


Howe Wonderful

by CuriouslyIndecisive



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Light Angst, Multi, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriouslyIndecisive/pseuds/CuriouslyIndecisive
Summary: Warden Commander Cyana Brosca has accomplished many things since being put in charge of Ferelden's Grey Wardens; she's bolstered their numbers from two to eight, she's put an impressive amount of gold in their coffers, and she's fallen in love. The third bit was the easiest to accomplish, but she's found the consequences the most difficult to deal with. She is many things - determined, good-humored, and surprisingly lethal - but experienced in love? She is definitely not that.





	1. A Friendly Nudge.

**Author's Note:**

> The first several chapters of this work have been entirely rewritten since the original posting and are now revised as of 5/25.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to give Cyana a shove in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting me on the right path, Trilo!

(My take on Cyana as done with a character generator tool!)

  
(Art done based on game screenshots by the very talented shayasanya on tumblr!)

 

Cyana looked up at the soft knock on her door, her right hand instantly flying toward the gleaming dagger resting nearby on the nightstand. “Yes?” she called promptly toward the knocker.

“What are you doing in there?” a familiar voice called back. “I’ve come to drag you down to dinner.”

Cyana smirked, her blue-green eyes crinkling in amusement. “Come in, then,” she shouted, releasing her grip on the dagger. Small even by dwarven standards, she had to hop down to the floor from the lofty bed. Upon landing, she lifted her arms and arched her back to stretch her stiff muscles as the door to her chambers swung open and Anders strode in. He looked her up and down, his toasted amber eyes critical.

“What _are_ you doing?” he repeated, a puzzled look on his face. “You’re not in here dreaming of Nathaniel again, are you?”

She sighed and raked her fingers through her rumpled red hair before shooting him a look of fierce disapproval. “No,” she sassed, “I was not in here ‘dreaming of Nathaniel.’” She put a hand on each hip and stood at her full height, trying to look much bigger than her miniature frame would allow. As usual, the blonde mage was not cowed.

“Have it your way, then. Why did you skip dinner?” he asked, as he plopped down into her desk chair and fiddled with the feather detailing on the shoulder of his robe. He spent several seconds adjusting it before becoming satisfied it was straightened. He refocused on her and added, pointedly, “You were missed.”

_Missed?_ She shifted her body weight, crossing her arms over her chest. Cyana regarded him with curiosity and asked, “By whom?”

“By your love, naturally,” he replied airily, lacing his fingers together in his lap. He grew serious before he continued. “I missed it myself - lost track of time in the library. When I finally headed down, he caught me in passing and asked if I knew where you were.”

Her look soured as she corrected him. “He is _not_ my lover, as you are well aware." Nathaniel and she were nothing more than professional with one another. Still, why would he be looking for her? She hesitated the space of a breath before plowing on. "Did he… mention why he was looking for me?” She tried to quiet the smoldering interest in her voice, but Anders knew her well enough to read it on her face.

Shrugging, he stood up, lifting his long frame from her chair. “No,” he said simply, before a slight grin bloomed from his mouth, “and I did not ask, so I guess you’ll just have to go and ask for yourself.” Drawn up to his full height, he towered over her. His sly scheming vexed her deeply.

“Damn you, Anders. Why do you always make it so complex?” Though she loved Anders dearly, she had tired of this game. She made for the door, her wee fist punching him lightly in the thigh on her way past.

“Ow, Cy,” he griped, feigning a wound to the leg. He turned and followed her from the room. In the spacious stone hallway, he answered her rhetorical question. “Because the tension between the two of you causes more electricity than even _**I**_ could manage to generate and you’re the only ones who don’t seem to notice. I’m trying to do you a favor.” He kept his strides short, matching her pace, his voice earnest. She knew he did it with the best intentions, but she had tried to explain numerous times previously that it was complicated. Anders was being deliberately obtuse.

Regardless, if a fellow Warden was in search of her she felt she had a duty to make herself available. Simply letting Anders win was out of the question, however, so they walked a minute or two in silence before she stopped short at the intersection of two hallways and capitulated. “Fine,” she caved, “fine. I’ll go and ask him, alright? I don’t suppose he mentioned where he was headed?” She shook her head ungraciously.

“Ah!” Anders exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with triumph, “he did, actually. He said-,” the mage paused for a heartbeat, a strange half-smile taking over his expression, “he just said he’d be in his chambers,” he shrugged.

Cyana was filled with misgiving; he was clearly withholding something. She could see it in the tense flexing of his jaw muscles as he attempted to keep his expression neutral. _And yet, no amount of prying will help._ She sighed and resigned herself to finding out the hard way. “I suppose you’re no doubt going to wait until I’ve finished to eat, so that you can prickle me further about my 'lover'?” She arched her brows up at him, already knowing the answer.

“Naturally,” he replied delightedly. “I'll wait for you in the dining room.” He spun on his heel and practically danced down the corridor toward the main hall. Cyana turned toward the arch on the left and balled her tiny hands into fists. Whatever word she might use to describe her relationship with Nathaniel to others, she could not deny the way her heart tended to pound anytime she was in his presence. _Just... go. Go go go._ Resolutely, she set her shoulders and stalked off in the direction of Nathaniel’s chambers.


	2. Complications.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyana reflects on her past interactions with Nathaniel.

Warden Commander Brosca kept a steady pace on her way to Nathaniel’s quarters; she figured there was no sense delaying the inevitable. As she walked, her mind drifted to the night she had first encountered him, months ago in the Vigil’s dungeon. She’d been summoned to judge a nameless stranger, a man who claimed he’d intended to murder her but had lately decided against it. He had been caught thieving from the Keep instead, and it had taken four Grey Wardens in total to subdue him. She shortly discovered the man was not nameless at all. In fact he was Nathaniel Howe, eldest son of Rendon Howe, the man who had aimed an assassin at her just last year. Despite being a member of the prestigious Antivan Crows, Cyana had bested the hireling (and then recruited and bedded him in addition). Months later, she and Alistair were captured and imprisoned in Howe's manse in Denerim. They had escaped and hunted down their jailer, and Cyana had killed him herself.

And now his son stood before her, awaiting judgment. Against the Seneschal’s wishes, against her companions’ counsel, and seemingly against Nathaniel’s own confused feelings on the matter, she had released him after returning the family heirlooms he’d been caught pilfering. In listening to him explain his motivations, she'd seen the raw emotion and honesty on his face, and against all odds she had empathized with him. His late father had sullied the family name, making Nathaniel an outcast, a pariah among his countrymen - blamed for mistakes he hadn’t committed and doomed to suffer the consequences of someone else’s actions. It was exactly like being casteless she had realized, and she refused to reprimand him for having tried to escape it. He’d stared at her as he was freed, silent, his expression unfathomable. She’d found herself transfixed by his flawless, moonstone eyes.

His gaze had possessed her, and she randomly thought of flashing, silvery eyes for weeks on end. Til one night, on the road outside Amaranthine, Nathaniel had reappeared. He wanted to be made a Grey Warden, he said, to redeem himself and his name. His reasoning was as good as anyone's and she didn't think he'd have taken no for an answer. So, several nights later, she witnessed his Joining and had spent much of her time since in his presence.

They had become rather close, in fact, mainly due to their sparring sessions. She realized quickly that Nathaniel was the most skilled archer she’d ever met - his bow work was artistry. It was breathtaking to watch him nock an arrow, steadily draw his bowstring back, eyes narrowed with intense focus as he lined up a flawless shot. The tiniest twitch of movement meant he’d released the draw; the bowstring snapped back with a resounding thrumming as he watched the arrow sail 200 yards to bury itself, dead center, in the target. She’d spent several days observing him surreptitiously during her own stints in the yard before the morning he'd decided to approach her. She was taken aback when he confessed _he’d_ been watching _her_ run dagger drills. As he praised her skill and asked whether she might consider giving him lessons, her heart had drummed a frantic staccato against her sternum. She had agreed, on the condition that he would school her in bowmanship as she coached him in bladework. Multiple mornings a week since then they could be found in the bailey training together.

Cyana realized with a start that she'd arrived at his door. She shook her head lightly, sending the errant recollections scattering from her mind. Suddenly self-conscious, she gave herself a once over, straightening her tunic and brushing her fingers through her coppery hair. _Professional._ She took a deep breath, two, three, and knocked.


	3. An Unprofessional Encounter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyana's visit with Nathaniel does not go as planned.

“Enter,” a voice called, almost immediately. Cyana drew herself up to her full height and pushed the door open. “That didn’t take lo- _Cyana_?!” The shock in Nathaniel's voice was surely mirrored on Cyana's face. The door handle she'd meant to release was now the thing she clutched for support as she took in the scene in front of her. 

Nathaniel was having a bath, and for his part, looked just as surprised as she felt. Her breath flew out of her in a short rush as her entire face blazed crimson. She stood still, staring at him for far too long as she willed her brain to retake control of her body and turn around. He was sitting not 10 feet from her in a washtub, enveloped in a light cloud of steam. She registered his bare chest, beaded with moisture, his knees and thighs exposed over the surface of the water. Everything consequential was mercifully submerged. Finally, after several of the absolute most awkward moments of her life, her limbs regained the ability to move and she spun around to shut the door. His very naked body was completely out of eyesight but still very present in her mind. She remained silent, her brain much too dumbfounded to think of anything to say.

“Well,” he started, his voice strained. “You're not who I was expecting.” _Oh, for fuck’s sake, **lovely** ,_ she thought, correcting the previous assumption that her life at that moment could not possibly be worse. “I mean, no! Not like... ahh _Andraste save me_... Yes?!” There was another knock at the door, and she slipped away from it, wishing with all her might that she would just spontaneously combust before it opened.

“I’ve your towels, ser,” came the muffled reply.

“Please, _Maker_ , come in,” Nathaniel answered desperately. The door swung into the room and Cyana sidestepped it, stealthily disappearing into the shadow behind it, her face against the wall. The cool stone felt like ice on her burning skin, and she rested her forehead against it as she hid. She realized she was acting the petulant child but she simply could not stand for someone to catch them like this; the thought of the potential rumors was too much. “I’ll take one. Just drop the rest on the bed,” came Nathaniel’s uncomforable voice behind her.

“Anything else, ser?”

“No, thank you, that’s all,” he said. Cyana listened to the man’s retreating steps, peppered with the sound of splashing as Nathaniel escaped the tub. A soft rustling of cloth told her he should soon be respectably covered. In a heartbeat, the door was pulled shut as the servant departed, and she was alone with Nathaniel again. She silently prayed that the stone’s chilly ministrations had taken some of the scarlet out of her skin.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and asked, “Are you decent?”

“Yes,” he rasped, and she turned to face him. He was perched on the edge of his bed, a towel cinched around his waist. Their eyes met as he spoke. “That was quick thinking; he didn't even notice you," he began, lightly, before he faltered and continued, "Cy, I’m so sorry. I’d asked the man for a few clean towels and I thought it was him back with them. I didn’t even think to ask…,” he looked off, his expression less embarrassed than she'd expected.

“It’s fine, I understand,” she said, trying to behave as casually. “I’ve seen half naked humans before, so no harm done,” she shrugged, trying to laugh naturally. A small smile appeared on his face. “Anders said you’d been looking for me?” _Paragons, but I am going to **kill** that man,_ she thought, suddenly realizing what tiny bit of information he’d withheld. 

“Yes, I have a request,” Nathaniel replied, his voice suddenly determined. He stood up, moving closer, and she could not help but notice how very low the towel was situated on his waist. Lean abs flexed as he moved and a thin, dark line of hair ran down the middle of his belly, fanning out beneath the furrows below his hips and disappearing under the towel. She stopped herself there, forcing her gaze back up to his face, but those gleaming eyes were no less alluring. 

_Sod it!_ She cleared her throat and shifted her weight uncomfortably, trying not to look sheepish. “Okay, what is it?”

“Well, as it happens, I ran into the groundskeeper a week ago. The man’s name is Samuel, I know him from when…,” he hesitated, old pain alight in his eyes. She knew what he would say before he said it. The groundskeeper was a man leftover from before the Vigil was given to the Wardens; the Howe family had hired him. Samuel was just one more symbol of all they had lost to the Wardens. “...from when my family held the Vigil,” he continued. “He informed me that my sister, Delilah, is alive. I thought she'd perished during the Blight, but she's living in Amaranthine, in the city. Samuel said she married a lowborn man and is working as a merchant. I would very much like to… if we could…,” he lost the words, his voice low and harsh with emotion. He studied her face, and something she couldn’t quite read suddenly blazed in his eyes as he stood up straight, shoulders drawn back, chin held high. “Commander, I would like to formally request permission to seek her out when next we are in the city.”

The switch had occurred as fast as a lightning strike. Several thoughts suddenly tumbled into her head, but she pushed them aside for the moment. “Very well, Warden Howe,” she answered, returning his formal tone. Doubt and discomfort momentarily shadowed his face when she addressed him as such, but his expression remained expectant. “You already know we'll be in the city in a few days. Permission is granted. If there’s nothing else I shall take my leave - I’ve yet to have dinner.”

Those pale, grey eyes, like shadows on the moon, bored into her own with a depth of emotion that stunned her. “No, Commander, that’s all. Thank you. I’m… sorry to have kept you from your meal,” he said quietly. Slowly, with carefully controlled steps, she turned and fled the room.


	4. Dinner and an Apology.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her emotional state, dinner with Anders is both the best and worst medicine.

Cyana made it halfway to the dining hall before she stopped. She couldn’t face Anders before dealing with the tempest raging in her head. She also couldn’t put him off or he'd come looking for her again, so she sequestered herself in a quiet alcove and took a few minutes to sort through her jumbled thoughts.

It had happened again, like so many times before. One moment he was Nathaniel, her friend and companion, with whom she’d shared secrets and laughter and understanding. The next, like the flip of a coin, he was Warden Howe, soldier under her command, all stiff formality and respectful distance. She assumed it was his way of trying to keep a boundary, to establish a friendship while ensuring it went no further, but she could not be certain. And in the end it hardly mattered - whatever impression he'd intended to give her, she'd fallen for him regardless.

His unpredictable coolness hurt. Snaking her arms around her chest, Cyana hugged her ribs and held herself together. _How did it get like this?_ She had had romantic partners in Orzammar. Well, maybe not romantic, but she’d taken men and women to bed when it suited her and it had always remained blissfully simple - momentary diversions from the danger and darkness of her life. Even after Orzammar, with Zevran it had always been casual. He was tanned skin and spun-gold hair, lithe limbs and foreign height, smooth lines and slick seduction. It was no anonymous encounter, either; they'd carried on for months, but despite a deep fondness for one another they'd never been entangled by feelings. There had _never_ been attachment before, and she found herself wholly unprepared to deal with it when it had sprung up several months ago. Anders insisted she was making it more difficult than was necessary, but this was a dance whose steps she did not know, and it was all she could do to avoid trampling on anyone's toes. There were no easy answers here. Cyana took a steadying breath and let it go for the moment; the problem could not be solved with introspection. The issue with a certain meddling mage could be solved very shortly, however. She left the alcove and made her way to the dining hall.

Anders was in the smaller dining room, an intimate area set off the north side of the grand dining hall. He sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, firelight flickering off the familiar face of Ser Pounce-A-Lot in his lap. The orange cat gazed in her direction as she approached. No matter how quietly Cyana prowled, Ser Pounce always seemed to know when she was there. Anders followed the cat’s gaze, and whatever expression Cyana showed on her face must have been fearsome - Anders paled visibly at the sight of her.

She swept up in front of him, her movement deliberate and dangerous. “Give me one good reason I shouldn't haul your ass up to the armory tower and toss you out of it,” she hissed, voice deadly quiet.

To his credit, Anders’ courage did not abandon him in his time of need. “Because then you'd have _Velanna_ as your only mage,” he said disgustedly. 

_Fuck. Fair point._ Cyana shook her head, raising her hands in defeat before turning toward one of the nearby tables. “Your Maker take you, Anders, and your damn jokes,” she whispered, but her angry shell was cracking. The man had a way of cutting right to the heart of her and she treasured their friendship because of it. She climbed into one of the wooden chairs, seat polished smooth from years of steady use. It felt solid underneath her, and she let her delicate shoulders slump into it. 

Anders left the hearth rug and came around to her side. He knelt next her, eyes like molten brass flowing over her crumpled posture. Even this way, he was taller than her, and she watched as his brow furrowed above her head. When he snaked an arm around her neck and pulled their bodies close, foreheads resting against one another, she let herself be held, incredibly grateful for the comfort. “Do you want to talk about it?” he whispered. She said nothing, choosing instead to sit still in the comfortable closeness of a friendly soul.

When she gently pulled away, Anders took a seat opposite her. The table had been laid out before she'd arrived and heavy-lidded pots had kept the thick stew fairly warm. It faintly steamed as Anders spooned some into a bowl for her while Cyana pulled a small loaf of bread in two. She hollowed out one half and traded it for her bowl; Anders filled the bread shell with his own portion of stew. Fifteen minutes of quiet eating passed, enough to soothe her substantially, before he asked the question she'd known he would. She was impressed he'd made it as long as he had. “Okay, okay, yes, _I am the **worst friend**_ , but please, I have to know; Did you happen to catch him bathing?” His face held such hopeful anticipation that it was all she could do not to burst out laughing.

She deliberately chewed the tender chunk of meat on her tongue into tiny little pieces before carefully swallowing, taking much more time with it than was strictly necessary. Cyana pulled a crisp napkin off the table and gently wiped her mouth before folding it slowly into her lap. Anders snorted impatiently. “Cy! If you take much longer to tell me, I’ll freeze your smalls solid, I swear,” he threatened. This time she _did_ burst out laughing.

Breathlessly, eyes flashing wickedly, she threw a devious grin at Anders. “Suffice it to say that was the most I've ever seen of a naked human and I regret nothing,” she sighed dramatically.

"Oh, Void take your tiny ass,” he cursed her, laughing, and then he tucked back into their meal.


	5. Toss and Turn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to sleep, Cyana dwells on her emotional attachment to Nathaniel.

The coals in the fireplace had long since died, buried under a fine layer of ash, yet the Vigil’s Warden Commander still lay awake in her chambers. She was tired in the sort of way that often made it _harder_ to sleep instead of easier; hers was a deep, aching exhaustion that throbbed in her head, her heart, her bones. Dinner with Anders had done much to lessen the sting of it, but afterward, with no company save a cold bed and a waning fire, tendrils of shame and regret had twisted into every idle thought and sleep refused to come.

Nearly every morning for the past several months, Cyana had woken up and scrambled out of bed. She washed and dressed as quickly as dwarvenly possible before flying out into the bailey, excitement building with every step. Most mornings she was lucky, and Nathaniel was already there waiting for her. She’d spot him leaning against the fence that bordered the yard, occasionally fletching arrows or sharpening a blade. His back was normally to her, and she would spend those first few moments of the day quietly admiring him.

He was not so tall as Anders, but certainly still soared over her own diminutive height. The bright sunlight of daybreak glinted off his hair, inky-black and shinier than any raven’s feather. He kept it half tied back, with the rest falling straight past his chin to brush his collarbone. His shoulders were broad, laced with tight muscle that flexed gently at every breath. More sinewy strength was woven across his chest and laced down each arm. A trim waist and modest hips led to strong thighs and lean calves that were normally garbed in snug, leather leggings. She’d often harbored the ridiculous wish that she could be so lucky as to be a pair of his trousers.

She'd greet him, and they'd pass the next few hours in a series of exercises, each critiquing the other toward improving their respective skills. They would drill without interruption until hunger began to bother them, at which time some helpful attendant was dispatched to the kitchens. A short while later, Nathaniel and Cyana would breakfast together.

She had never realized it before tonight, but _those_ were the moments in which she’d gently fallen in love with him. Cyana had asked him endless questions about growing up on the surface, growing up as a noble, about his time in the Free Marches. She asked his opinion on the Chantry and what he thought of the Circles. Inconsequential things were easily discussed as well: his favorite color, what foods he liked, whether he was fond of reading. He had answered enthusiastically, always in as much detail as she liked, and then offered his own questions about dwarves, about the Deep Roads, and Orzammar. He was curious about Paragons and Titans and stone sense. Lyrium resistance fascinated him nearly as much as her descriptions of the molten-stone rivers that flowed beneath the surface.

It had not been very long ago when he finally asked about her brand, about being casteless and growing up in Dust Town. She was surprised to discover she'd come to trust him enough to tell the truth. She’d told him about her drunk mother and Rica’s life as a noble hunter. She’d explained her work for Beraht and the Carta, shamefully criminal as it was. He seized every opportunity for more information, and by the end, she had painted a very complete picture; a dirty, despairing portrait of the woman she’d been in her life before the Wardens, in which she had fought for every desperate breath she had ever taken.

In answer, he’d laid bare his own painful past; a family devoid almost entirely of affection, from whom he’d been sent away against his wishes. Eight years Nathaniel had spent in the Free Marches, and though he'd grown to love the land and its people, part of him missed his family and home. When he’d finally returned, it had been after he learned of his father's murder; he left Kirkwall immediately and returned to Amaranthine to find his family destroyed and the home he had known lost to him. _A weaker man might have been broken by it._

And in all the times she'd revealed something about herself that she hated, Nathaniel had never judged her. He had never belittled her suffering or criticized her choices. He had offered her empathy, understanding, and encouragement. And in return, though he didn’t know it, he had won her heart.

She knew she would do anything to heal as much as she could of the injustice his father had inflicted on him. She had killed the man, after all, and although _she_ knew that what she had done was necessary, she was in no position to convince Nathaniel of that. She saw him carry the weight of that pain more clearly than she could stand. So, naturally, if he wished her help to search for a sister he thought he’d lost, who happened to be the only family he had left, she knew she would do everything in her power to see that it happened.

In a few days, she would see returned to him a fraction of what the Grey Wardens had taken. She only hoped it might bring him some peace.


	6. Breakfast with the Dead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of scarcely any sleep, Cyana awakens early and joins Sigrun for a meal.

Cyana rolled out of bed roughly an hour before daybreak. She had barely slept, and even when she’d managed to close her eyes her rest had been fitful. As such, her body had not shaken the oppressive weariness that comes from feeling too much at once, but there was work to be done. She washed and dressed methodically before packing several days’ worth of supplies into her small rucksack and departing her chambers for the dining hall.

She had expected to find it deserted at such an early hour, but was not unpleasantly surprised to find Sigrun sitting at one of the familiar tables, a mug of coffee in one hand and an apple in the other. Her heavily tattooed face was cheery despite the hour, her dark pigtails trembling as she turned to look at Cyana. “What in the Paragons’ names are you doing awake at this hour?” she called.

“A mouse snuck into my room to inform me my favorite dwarf was breakfasting in the hall,” Cyana answered roguishly once she’d reached the table and sat herself across from Sigrun. Cyana was not a fan of coffee, but given the two days’ travel to Amaranthine looming ahead, she poured herself a cup knowing it was better than the alternative. Adding far too much cream and a modest amount of sugar, she sipped it as she sliced some sharp, yellow cheese from a large wheel and began eating.

“Favorite, eh? I’d take that as a compliment if only my competition weren’t drunk, dangerous, or elitist.” Sigrun laughed, a warm grin on her face. The woman was unfalteringly perky; an amazing feat for being dead. Cyana did not know where she found the means. Sigrun had also grown up in Dust Town. She’d worked for the Carta, too, before killing a guard one day while fleeing capture. She’d been apprehended anyway and chosen to join the Legion of the Dead rather than face execution. She’d once told Nathaniel that the only difference between the two was several pints of blood. It was no coward’s way out - she was still technically dead, sentenced to a life of relative solitude fighting the darkspawn. It was rather like Cyana’s journey toward becoming a Grey Warden. She respected Sigrun deeply for it.

“Why should that matter? I happen to enjoy drinking and explosions and… alright, you’ve got me on Voldrik. All the man ever does is ask me to empty my purse.” Cyana grinned at Sigrun ruefully. “Still,” she continued, “I wouldn’t be happy to have wandered down here and found any of them as a breakfast partner.”

Speaking through a bite of apple Sigrun said, “Yes, yes, I’m tremendously flattered to be the Warden Commander’s favorite dwarf. Huzzah!” She waved a hand about in the air. Cyana laughed. A thought occurred to her as Sigrun gave her another wicked smile.

“Sigrun,” she began, “you know I’m leaving for Amaranthine today. Anders is coming along. I wonder whether you might do me a favor while he’s gone…” Cyana trailed off, gauging Sigrun’s reaction. Her dark face was alight with curiosity.

“Oh do go on,” she insisted.

"Well, he played a rather fantastic prank on me last night, and it is deserving of no less than the best revenge. I wonder how you might feel about replacing all the clothes in his wardrobe with some that are… in significantly more questionable taste. While we’re gone?” Cyana kept her voice light, allowing Sigrun’s mind the freedom to run wild at the implication. She had rarely seen her fellow rogue look so excited.

“Did you have some, ah, items in mind? Or do I need to find them myself?” she asked, not at all bothering to hide her desire to be the one to choose said items.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I’ve got no time before we depart to hunt anything down. I hope you won’t mind doing it. Just make sure they’re… oh, damn it all, I want them positively scandalous,” Cyana gushed at the end, the airy manner of casual discussion disappearing in favor of making sure she got the point across.

Her laughed echoed all around the hall, delighted peals of it making her frame shake and her pigtails bounce. “Alright, alright,” Sigrun sighed, catching her breath, “you don’t need to ask me twice. But I _do_ want to know what he did to deserve this when you get back.”

“You’ll enjoy _that_ story nearly as much as he did, I’m certain,” replied Cyana disgustedly. “If I could've reached his big, goofy face before I calmed down I might have hit him in it.”

“It is particularly punchable when he’s being smug,” Sigrun said matter-of-factly. “And given that’s about all the time, well, I can’t say I blame you. We both know you love the big idiot far too much to actually hurt him, however.”

“I have a weakness for ragtag people who want to be my friend,” Cyana offered, with a pointed wink at her companion. “What can I say?”

“Yea, yea, we know. We like you, too.” The sentiment was genuine despite the tone, and Cyana appreciated it, returning her friend’s warm smile with one of her own. Their moment was interrupted by a clattering near the dining hall’s entrance. Both looked up to see Justice on his face, apparently having stumbled over his own feet yet again. The spirit had struggled with his newfound physicality ever since leaving the Fade. They exchanged a glance, chuckling quietly before moving to help him up.

Just over an hour later, Cyana waited by the main gate, watching Anders, Nathaniel, and Oghren walk in her direction. Anders looked cheery, Nathaniel looked tired, and Oghren, unsurprisingly, looked tipsy. _Wonderful_. How the man managed to fight as well as he did in some constant state of intoxication was as big a mystery to her as what had happened to the Titans. “Well, don’t you look _ravished_ this morning. Didn’t get much sleep, eh? Must be as good as me, whoever he is,” Oghren said, leering only slightly.

“It's much too early to try me on puns, Oghren. Keep that up and I’ll confiscate all the alcohol you’ve packed,” Cyana threatened.

“You would not!” he retorted with a gasp, grabbing the handles of his pack with oversized hands and holding on tightly. She could hear bottles clinking softly inside. “Just you try, woman,” he said with a growl.

“Relax, Oghren,” Anders cut in diplomatically. The fiery-haired dwarf softened before Anders said, “You know if she wanted to, she’d just steal it when you’re passed out. She hasn’t yet, but maybe don’t push her, alright?” Nathaniel chuckled under his breath.

Oghren glanced back and forth between Cyana and Anders, and finally barked a laugh. “You two are quite a pair, always having old Oghren on.” He shook his head and eased a bottle out of his belt to take a swig.

Cyana shrugged bemusedly. “Come on, then. Two days of walking ahead of us. _I’m_ going to need a drink at the end of it, no doubt.” The heavy gate clattered as it was raised, and the four of them set off for Amaranthine.


	7. Arrival in Amaranthine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders, Oghren, Nathaniel, and Cyana arrive in Amaranthine and take rooms at The Crown and Lion.

The foursome reached the city after sunset on the day following their departure. They’d run into darkspawn no less than four times on the road, and had two encounters with vicious wildlife besides. Trudging drearily through the city toward The Crown and Lion, Cyana thought longingly of a clean bed, wretchedly tired as she was. The tavern was warm and bright, lit up by countless candles and a fire roaring in the corner. She took three additional rooms from the innkeeper, not needing one for herself - for more than a month now he’d kept one permanently reserved for her. It was a courtesy he offered for all the business the Wardens had done in the city over the last several months, and she was tremendously grateful, especially tonight.

She sat down among her men at a table near the bar and detailed their plans for the following day. They had business to attend with the Chanter, and with Kendrick of the Merchant’s Guild. She also needed to see Constable Aidan for assorted reports and updates regarding the refugee situation and any information on darkspawn activity in the area. She shot Nathaniel a glance to indicate she’d not forgotten his request, either. He acknowledged it with a subtle nod of the head. “So, basically, tedious errands.” Anders summed it up remarkably well. “Remind me again why I escaped the Circle for this?”

“You didn’t,” Cyana answered. “It was this or a Templar escort back to the Circle. I’ve been in that tower. Personally, I think you chose wisely.”

Anders paled slightly, but recovered his good humor quickly. “Touche,” he said as the dwarven barman approached the table. He greeted the man with a question. “Is Sam in tonight?” The barman grunted in the affirmative. “Nothing for me then, thanks. I’ve got energy enough for food _or_ fun, not both. See you all in the morning.” He rose from the table and disappeared into the door that led to the kitchen.

Oghren looked stunned despite his already advanced state of inebriation; he'd drank through their entire trip. “What’s the matter, Oghren?” Cyana asked with concern.

The dwarf shuddered. “How’s ‘e choose so easy ‘tween fuckin’ an’ drinkin’? Tha’s a hard decision ‘a make.” He looked bewildered a moment more, before belching loudly and passing out right in his chair. The barkeep looked both disgusted and amused.

“Two of you want anything or what?” he snorted.

Nathaniel gave her an inviting look. “Normally we have breakfast, but I think I’d like it just the same if you joined me for dinner.” Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Perhaps in one of our rooms if it’s just the two of us? Bit loud down here for my liking.” _Stone take me._

“Alright then,” she answered. They ordered a light meal in addition to some of the city’s ale and Cyana asked that it be brought up to her room. As they were getting up, Anders sneaked back into the great room, towing a young man behind him. “Anders,” Cyana called, “since you’re going up anyway, can you and Sam help Nathaniel get Oghren into a room?”

He shot her a sour look, but acquiesced nonetheless. “No, no. _You_ meet me upstairs. Go and warm the bed,” he said to Sam, shooing him away with a hand gesture. The burly, dark-haired young man gave Cyana a friendly smile and a shrug before turning toward the steps.

“Bye, Sam,” she laughed. “Don’t keep him up too late, eh?”

Anders’ eyes followed Sam up the stairs before turning back to Cyana. “You know,” he whined, hefting Oghren by the ankles while Nathaniel hooked his arms around the dwarf’s chest, “this is energy I’d much rather be spending elsewhere.”

“Sooner you get him upstairs and in a bed, the sooner you’ll be in your own with Sam.” Cyana pulled Oghren’s pack off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. She led them up the stairs and held open the door to Oghren’s room. Even for two grown humans, Oghren was a hefty weight - all muscle and a slight beer belly. But they made it after several arduous minutes, dropping him on the coverlet before shuffling out. Cyana dropped the pack on the table. She stayed a minute more to remove the warrior’s boots, more out of concern for the innkeeper’s bedding than Oghren’s comfort; he could sleep drunk through anything.

Shutting the door gently behind her, she found the two men slightly out of breath on the landing. “Well,” Anders started, running a hand through his blonde hair and pulling several stray strands from his slightly sweaty face, “if you need me, wait til morning. If you interrupt any earlier I can’t promise you won’t catch an eyeful of something. Goodnight.” He spun on his heel and walked down the hallway, disappearing through the door at the end. Nathaniel glanced at Cyana, his face amused, as one of the kitchen girls came up the stairs with a tray.

“Your meal, Commander,” she said by way of greeting.

Nathaniel stepped across the hall and held open the door to Cyana’s room, allowing both her and the kitchen girl to enter. The girl put the tray on the table by the hearth, then disappeared from the room after a small curtsy. Nathaniel swung the door shut behind her. Cyana dropped her own pack into an empty chair. She divested herself of her weapons, gloves, and helm, and was working on the jerkin when Nathaniel spoke.

“If I’d known we were planning on undressing I’d have gone to my own room and washed up first,” he said easily from behind her. “No, no! Don’t stop on my account,” he added with a laugh when her hands froze in place. Cyana had to fumble longer than necessary, but she got the final fastenings open and shrugged off the chest piece. She had never felt so naked in a cotton shirt and her leather legguards. She opted to leave the legguards on.

She turned and found him seated at the table, munching on a bit of cheese and watching her rather intently. She thought he was expecting a response, so she wracked her brains in search of something bold and clever. “Well, since I’ve recently seen how you ‘wash up,’” she offered, as coyly as possible, “if you had excluded me from it tonight I’d have been disappointed indeed.” _Actually that wasn't bad._ She kept her eyes on the floor as she walked toward the table and seated herself. She put a heel of bread and a wedge of cheese on her plate and took a long pull from her ale. Only then did she return her eyes to Nathaniel’s face.

He was smiling. “Interesting. I’d thought you’d rather hated it, but it’s flattering to know I thought wrong. I’ll be sure to inform you of my next bath, in case you’d like to attend.” They both laughed, wide smiles mirroring one another. They set to eating. “You know,” he started after several minutes, “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a jerkin on before. Even when we spar, you come fully armored every morning. It’s never occurred to me before now to ask why.”

“Actually, when we spar, I wear a heavier set of armor. It’s lined inside with small weights. It builds speed and endurance. When we go into actual combat and I’ve got my standard leathers on, I’m faster and I can go for longer.” Nathaniel frowned at her once she finished. “What?” she asked.

“You wear heavier armor on purpose when we spar and you still beat me in hand-to-hand nearly every time. The one time I truly beat you was only because you tripped and dropped your daggers and I physically pinned you down.” He was still frowning, but she remembered the moment with a rush. She ought to’ve been angry with herself, but the sight of him on top of her, his body on hers, the weight of him holding her down… _No, no. Not now. Focus._

“One time is all it would take to kill me. I was just lucky that time was you and not a hurlock,” she recovered. “Could you please stop frowning at me?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “You are genuinely fearsome. I’m sure many people have wondered why such a small dwarven woman was made Warden Commander of Ferelden, but no one wonders that once they’ve seen you fight. If they’ve not seen you fight, well, they probably think it’s just because you’re pretty.” Cyana dropped her cheese.

_I'm what?!_ “Nonsense,” she said as she scooped the cheese back up with a slightly trembling hand. “Anyway, what’s that got to do with being Warden Commander?”

“It isn't nonsense, and I think it’s just to benefit those of us under your command,” he said with a wink. He picked up his mug of ale, but Cyana reached out and took it from him. “What are you-” he objected, but she held her hand up to silence him and glanced down into his mug. It was scarcely touched. She gave it back. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Did you swipe some of Oghren’s liquor on the road?” she inquired accusingly.

“Of course not,” he answered. “I don’t even know how he drinks that stuff. Why?”

“You’re awfully…” she struggled for the word. “You’re very _cheeky_ tonight,” she decided.

Genuinely surprised laughter spilled out of him. “Cheeky? Well... maybe I am. A few nights ago you walked in on me naked, and tonight we’re having dinner alone. ‘Cheeky’ seemed appropriate. Should I stop?” he asked, as though it was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“You _invited_ me in while you were naked, actually. And I didn’t say I disliked it,” she added carefully.

"The cheeky or the naked?" he teased.

"Yes," she answered, flushing.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Well. Good,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair and flashing her a grin. Cyana downed the rest of her ale.

Half an hour later she was struggling hard to stay awake. She wanted his company, desperately, but it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She kept thinking of how soft that pillow on the bed would feel when she buried her face in it, how warm the covers must be, how she’d sink right into the squishy feather mattress… “Huh?” she gasped.

Nathaniel had scooped her up out of her chair and was carrying her to bed. “Nathaniel, what-” she tried, but he interrupted.

“Shhh. That’s the second time you drifted off,” he chuckled. “I know when I’m not wanted. You need sleep, but I didn’t want to just leave you in the chair.” Once they were bedside, Nathaniel reached down and shoved the covers aside before setting her gently on the mattress. “Do you need help with your legguards?” he queried.

“No, no,” she waved him aside, “I can manage.” She fumbled at one buckle for a minute to no avail. Sleepiness and ale had dulled all her senses. She was amazed she’d made it half an hour. “Okay, maybe yes,” she offered and collapsed back on the pillow. He smiled, sat down on the bed beside her, and had them off in little more than a minute. “Just put them with the other stuff, please,” she requested.

“Can do,” he replied. He pulled the covers up over her and she snuggled into them, closing her eyes. Nathaniel stood up and placed the legguards on the chair as she’d asked. He blew out several candles around the room before heading toward the door. She heard him stop and cracked an eye open to look up at him. He was watching her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Thank you, Nathaniel.” She threw what she hoped was a contented smile at him.

He smiled back. “No, thank you,” he said, and a moment later, he bent down to leave the gentlest kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispered, and disappeared from the room.


	8. What Dwarves May Dream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyana tries to convince Anders that dwarves do dream afterall.

An insistent rapping on the door woke Cyana the next morning. “ _ **What?!**_ ” she called, refusing to open her eyes.

She heard Anders’ familiar refrain. “What are you doing in there?”

_Ugh, damn the man._ “I’m dreaming, go away!” she shouted back.

“You need to- wait, what? Dwarves don’t dream, Cy. I’m coming in.” He pushed into the room and shut the door behind him. She felt him flop into the bed beside her. He was irritatingly cheery. “Good morning, then,” he said.

“Says who? You’ve ruined my dream,” she grumbled, burying her head under the covers.

“Are you drunk? Dwarves do not dream. What are you on about?” He began rifling through the covers, trying to expose her to the bright morning sun filtering in through the windows. She fought to hold the blankets in place. “Keep resisting if you like,” he laughed, “but if you tumble out naked onto the floor I’m not going to feel even a bit sheepish about it.”

“Oh alright!” she shouted at him. His hands went still. She pulled the covers down just enough to expose her face to the gilt light. She looked better rested than she had for days, and the devilish smile playing about her lips sent a shockwave through Anders’ own expression.

“What happened?” he inquired immediately, flipping over onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows, his chin in his hands.

“I had a very good dream,” she began. “I know conventional wisdom says we dwarven can’t dream, but there is no other explanation for my memories of last night.” She grinned at him joyfully.

“Maker, what _happened?!_ The one night I go to bed with someone and I miss everything good. Well, everything good that happened to _you_. I had several rounds of good, myself.” She reached a hand out under the covers to punch him, but he just laughed at her feeble attempt toward mock violence. “Anyway, tell me about dwarven dreaming.”

Cyana shut her eyes again and imagined it in her head - Nathaniel had carried her to bed. He had tucked her in, and then he had definitely kissed her before leaving her room. Right on her forehead. She could still feel the slight scratchiness of the stubble below his lips. “Anders,” she breathed, “he kissed me!”

“Huh? Who kissed you?” he asked, confused.

“After you went to bed with Sam, Nathaniel and I had dinner. He flirted with me, openly. Obviously, in fact. I had a pint and I was much too tired to stay awake and eventually I drifted off. Next thing I knew, he’d picked me up in his arms and put me in bed.” Anders’ face was growing steadily more incredulous. “He took off my legguards.” Here Anders mouth simply fell open. “He tucked me in, blew out some candles, and when I thought he was leaving I heard him stop. I opened my eyes to look and found him watching me. I didn’t know what to say, so I said ‘thank you.’ He said ‘No, thank _you_ ,’ and bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead, and then he left.”

Anders was stunned into momentary silence. When he regained his composure he said, “On the forehead?”

“Yes, on my forehead.” Anders let out a low whistle. “What?” she asked nervously. “Is that bad?”

“A forehead kiss is not just for anyone, Cy. You don’t give forehead kisses to people you fuck, only people you care about. In my case, anyway,” he shrugged. She tried to think. She had never kissed anyone on their forehead before. The only people she could remember having kissed her in such a way were Alistair and Anders. Her face fell immediately. “What’s wrong?” her blonde friend asked.

“The only people who’ve kissed me there are people who love me like brothers,” she sighed. She knew it had been too good to be true. _Sod it all._

“Ridiculous. Didn’t you say he’d flirted with you? What did he say?” Anders was trying to make her feel better. She decided to let him.

“I was taking my armor off and he made a joke about me undressing. I froze in embarrassment, like an idiot, and he said I shouldn’t stop on his account.” Anders looked at her archly. Encouraged slightly, she continued, “Um, he said something about inviting me to his next bath. He called me pretty. I checked his mug to make sure he wasn’t drunk. When he asked me why, I told him he was being cheeky. He said a few nights ago I’d seen him naked and now I’d agreed to dinner with him, so he thought cheeky was appropriate, but he’d stop if I liked.”

“What did you say?” Anders interjected urgently.

“I said no, he shouldn’t stop,” she shrugged. “What was I supposed to say?”

“And after this you dozed off, and he tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead,” the mage affirmed. She shook her head yes. “Mhmm. And how many times have Alistair or I ever flirted with you like that?” She thought back on their relationships.

“...never. Not that I can remember, anyway.” She looked at her friend hopefully.

“This puts a lot of holes in your 'He's sometimes distant because he's not really interested' theory,” Anders critiqued, using a preposterous sing-sing voice in place of her own. "You realize that, right?" He smiled at her. She returned it with one of her own that was so big it threatened to split her face in two. Then she drifted back down to reality.

“Shit, Anders, what time is it? Ohhh, _Stone_ , I overslept. How long have you all been waiting?” She launched her short body from the bed and ran to the washbasin. Dunking the soft cloth into the cool, clean water, she scrubbed frantically at her face and neck. She rummaged in her pack on the chair and fished out a hairbrush, dragging it through the tangly mop on her head. Anders was chuckling at her.

“When Oghren beat you to breakfast I figured I should come check on you. Nathaniel’s not been down yet, however. You sure he’s not here hiding somewhere?” He ruffled the covers again, as if looking for stowaways.

Cyana had to laugh at that. “Anders, if _that_ ever happens, I assure you I’ll be waking _you_ up in my excitement to tell you about it.” She finished with her hair, putting a few small braids in it to keep it off her face. “Turn your head around,” she ordered the human, who politely obliged. She tore off yesterday’s shirt, trousers, and small clothes. She snatched up the washcloth again and scrubbed herself down quickly, before redressing in clean clothes from her pack. Anders turned his head back around when he heard the sounds of armor being fastened. A few minutes later they made their way down to the great room.

They joined Oghren at the same table by the bar from the previous night. “Morning, Oghren,” they said in unison. He shot them a disgusted look.

“Who sodding says so, eh? Why are you two so damn cheerful, anyhow?” Before either of them could answer, the barman delivered Oghren’s first pint, at which point he became considerably more chipper.

“Good morning,” Cyana heard from behind her. Nathaniel moved around the side of the table to take the empty seat next to her. He gave her a shy smile. “Did you sleep well?” he asked her. She could feel Anders’ eyes on the two of them.

“I did, yes, thank you. Best I’ve slept in days, actually.” She nervously tucked a stray braid behind her ear.

“I’m glad,” Nathaniel answered. “Perhaps it’s a trend we can continue.” Anders snorted into his cup; Cyana ignore him. She’d have kicked him under the table if only her legs would reach. Nathaniel seemed not to notice.

10 minutes later, fed and watered, the four of them left the inn and stepped out into the bustling streets of the city.


	9. A Howe Reunion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel finds Delilah's situation is much different than assumed.

Constable Aidan of the guard in Amaranthine was first on the Wardens’ to-do list. They spent roughly two hours in conference with him and his senior officers. The city guard had streamlined the process of letting refugees in, quarantining them for a few days within the safety of the gates before giving them free reign to roam the city - it was a compromise that had so far pleased everyone and kept what few instances of taint they’d found contained. Sisters from the Chantry had volunteered to visit the refugees in quarantine, which had done much to bolster the mood in the handful of abandoned warehouses set up as temporary quarters. Cyana made a mental note to thank the Revered Mother.

Revered Mother Leanna welcomed the Wardens to the Chantry shortly after they departed Aidan’s company. She spoke to them at length about her opinion on the status of the refugee quarantines and how well the plan had succeeded at safeguarding those seeking assistance without risking the well-being of the city’s residents. Cyana commended her for involving the sisters to bring peace during such trying times. She didn’t believe one whit in the humans' Maker, but she appreciated the amount of serenity that belief could bring to others. Cyana also gifted Leanna a supply of healing herbs, potions, and poultices for the Chantry’s use with the refugees.

It was early afternoon before they met with Kendrick in the merchant district. She returned a heavy sword retrieved from Blackmarsh, as well as several shipments of silk and some statue inscriptions from their recent trip to the Wending Wood. The man thanked them graciously, seeming as surprised as ever that they were willing to help. She was explaining once again that it really was no trouble when a hand fell on her shoulder. She looked over to find Nathaniel staring intently at something in the opposite direction. He glanced down at her, a mix of emotions on his face, before withdrawing his hand and stepping away. Cyana quickly bade goodbye to Kendrick and moved off to follow to Nathaniel.

He was walking toward a slim, dark-haired woman standing behind a stall. She was dressed commonly, but her clothing was clean and well-kept. Her hair shone in the sunlight, as black as Nathaniel’s, and Cyana realized with a start that she must be his sister. He stopped a few feet from her and called out, “Delilah, is that really you?” Cyana, Oghren, and Anders moved up behind him, keeping a respectful distance away.

The woman turned around upon hearing her name and her gaze immediately fell upon Nathaniel. Her eyes were light like his, but citrine in color, and her face broke into an exultant smile when she recognized her brother before her. “Nathaniel! I had feared the worst!” She moved immediately out from behind the stall and embraced him. They held tight to one another for several moments. “It’s been, what, nine years since we’ve done this,” she sighed over his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're alive. I've missed you so-" Her eyes suddenly fell on the three Wardens in waiting. “Oh! Who are your friends?” she asked him.

Nathaniel pulled away gently and turned around. He smiled at the three of them standing there sheepishly. “My fellow Wardens, sister. This is Anders, and Oghren, and Warden Commander Cyana.” They all bowed politely, even Oghren, much to Cyana’s surprise.

“Hello,” Delilah offered them with a small bow of her own. She turned back to Nathaniel. “You’re a Warden now? What are you doing in the city? ”

“Yes, I am,” he answered with some uncertainly. “We were here on business anyway, but I asked to look for you. I learned only a week ago from our old groundskeeper, Samuel, that you were alive and in the city.” Nathaniel hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “He said you’d left the Keep and married a merchant. I know it was hard, after father, but…,” his voice trailed off, but he continued shortly, “but you needn’t live here. Come back to the Keep with us.” His voice was earnest, full of caring.

Delilah’s face ran a gamut of emotions, from confusion, to shock, to amusement. She laughed lightly and asked, “You think I ran away from the Keep after father was killed and married a merchant to survive?" Nathaniel nodded his head, looking grave. Cyana felt something was very off. Delilah continued, "No, no, not at all. I married Albert because I adore him,” she said, her voice deeply affectionate. “He is a wonderful man. And, I left the Vigil _before_ father was killed, Nathaniel. It was the only way I could escape his evil.”

“His evil?” Nathaniel asked, incredulously. “Isn’t that overstating it a bit?”

Delilah wrapped her arms around her middle. “You weren’t here, brother,” she answered quietly. “The things he did… if you’ve been wondering what destroyed our family, it was father, without question.” She looked at Nathaniel with hard certainty in her eyes. Cyana was stunned.

“I… had no idea,” he said. Doubt had shaded his face, and he stood looking lost before his sister.

“Of course you did,” she replied kindly, “but you worshipped father. You chose to see only the best of him. Much changed after he sent you to the Marches.” Cyana watched Nathaniel’s face carefully. He looked on the verge of despair. Here were the hard truths he had not believed from others, being spoken to him by his own blood. She was very, very aware at that moment of the fact that she had killed Rendon Howe.

“Come brother,” Delilah said, seemingly sensing his intense discomfort, “let us catch up elsewhere, if you’ve time. A busy street is not the place for this discussion, and there are many happier things we ought to speak of. It has been a long time.” Nathaniel looked to Cyana for permission.

“Yes, please, go, by all means. Meet us back at the inn when you’re ready,” she encouraged. Nathaniel nodded. Delilah hooked an arm through one of his and led him away. Cyana, Oghren, and Anders left the market district for the comfort of The Crown and Lion.


	10. Confessions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel returns after thinking on his reunion with Delilah.

Anders, Oghren, and Cyana waited several hours for Nathaniel to rejoin them, but proceeded with dinner around sundown when he had not yet returned. Anders spent the meal detailing past affairs with numerous denizens of Thedas, including the previous night’s dalliance with Sam. Cyana was shocked to hear Isabela’s name come up in one of the mage’s tales - she’d met the infamous pirate queen herself, at her usual haunt in Denerim, The Pearl. She was a terrific cheater at Wicked Grace and a previous lover of Zevran’s. She’d found the woman rather enthralling; as had Anders, it seemed. 

Oghren was drunk as usual. He cheered raucously for the mage’s lecherous tales, adding his own stories a time or two. Cyana did not bother to correct his retelling of their visit to Felsi on Lake Calenhad. It had not gone at all as he portrayed it, but she figured it best to let him have his moment; he’d forget the tale come morning, anyway. Anders, for his part, seemed to enjoy it.

“How many times?!” Anders asked, shocked.

“Seven,” the dwarf growled in response.

“In one night?” Anders checked, his face disbelieving.

“Aye, lad. It coulda been more but I passed out! Heh heh heh.” The dwarf laughed into his ale, sending some of it spraying from the mug onto the table. Cyana found herself laughing as well. Much could be said about Oghren, but the dwarf had precious little shame to hold him back from doing exactly what he wanted in a given moment - there was something to be at least slightly admired there.

Anders excused himself when Sam’s shift ended. They practically ran up the stairs together; clearly one night had not been enough. She knew there was nothing meaningful between them, but she still appreciated Sam’s ability to put a smile on Anders’ face. She knew her friend well enough to understand that he'd been deeply lonely since the loss of a man named Karl; any joy he could find for himself was welcome in her eyes. 

Cyana kept Oghren company a while longer waiting for him to pass out. When he did, she ducked into the kitchen and tipped two strong lads to haul him up the stairs like Anders and Nathaniel had done the previous evening. As before, she removed his boots and left him to sleep it off.

Once in her own room, she pulled out a book. She’d neglected her reading since becoming Warden Commander. She had never learned in Orzammar - casteless were almost entirely uneducated. Leliana had been kind enough to spend time teaching her during their travels, despite Cyana being a lackluster student. She had often felt slow and stupid, but the bard was patient and she did not take no for an answer. And so, slowly and with much effort, Cyana had learned to read. 

Writing, thankfully, had come easier. Her penmanship was very good in fact, a function of much time spent practicing. She knew it pleased Leliana deeply to receive letters written in Cyana’s own hand, and Cyana derived much secret pride from being able to write well. 

Reading, however, still required practice. The book was a collection of tales from across Thedas. It had been a gift from Leliana, and it contained many of their favorite stories. She’d been reading for about an hour and had just reached the tale of Alindra and her soldier when a light knock fell on her door. “Yes?” she called softly.

“I'm sorry it’s late, but may I come in?” Nathaniel’s low voice answered.

Cyana marked her page and left her book in the chair. She quickly crossed to the door to let Nathaniel in. “Welcome back,” she greeted him. It was dark in the hallway and the main room beyond; the tavern had gone to sleep. She closed the door quietly.

Nathaniel took off his bow and daggers and set them on the floor against the far wall. He looked windblown, and she’d smelled the sea on him as he walked past, stronger than the scent that came in on the breeze through the windows in her room. He sat down on the rug by the hearth and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” he said, exhaling.

Cyana moved toward him. Tucking her ankles underneath her, she sat herself across from him. His brow was pinched and he did not meet her gaze. Whether he was upset or confused, she could not tell, so she asked, “Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while. We waited for dinner but you didn’t come back. I thought perhaps you’d stay with your sister.”

Slowly, he pulled his eyes up to hers. “I did, yes, I’m sorry. We ate early. She’d... like me to visit again. When I can’t, I’ll write. She's due, by spring. A new Howe.” He smiled at that briefly before continuing, “She seems genuinely happy with her merchant. Why should social status... or _rank_ matter if you're in love?" He muttered the last bit, speaking more to himself than to her, then he paused to reflect for a moment. "When I left, I went down to the water. I needed some time to think...” He trailed off and was still. Cyana was about to speak when he continued. “She said… our father deserved to die. I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head and looked down, wringing his hands in his lap.

“You don’t believe her?” Cyana asked gently. She felt as though she were walking on ice and could hear it splintering beneath her feet. A single misplaced step could be enough to shatter it and plunge her into darkness.

“It was a _war_. I thought… whatever he might have done, I assumed it was justified - that there was no other way. Before I left for the Free Marches he was never… how could so much have changed? Would it have been the same if I had never left?” She could not see his face. He reached up and held his head in his hands, chin against his chest.

“Nathaniel,” she said firmly, “it was not your fault. Your father _sent_ you away; you had no choice. His crimes are not yours, and you cannot blame yourself for them.” She could offer him no more. Killing Rendon Howe had been necessary; she would not apologize for having done it. Instead, she reached out and placed a hand on his knee. She squeezed lightly, trying to convey with a gesture everything she couldn’t with words.

He raised his head. His eyes glanced toward her touch, and she thought to pull away, but he reached out before she could and took her hand in his. He returned the soft pressure. “I've been such a fool,” he whispered. “In more ways than one. It took Delilah to make me see it.” He looked at her, and in a voice laden with emotion and regret said, “I am sorry, Cy. I blamed you wrongfully for the faults of my father, and I let it create distance between us where none belongs. I wish I could take it back.” She was silent, dazed. _Where none belongs?_

He held her tightly now, but not uncomfortably; his big hand enveloped her own almost entirely. His touch was warm, the skin rough from constantly handling a weapon. Abruptly, he reached forward. “May I?” he inquired, indicating her other hand. She offered it. He held both and then placed his own on his knees, open palms facing up, her hands resting on his. “How do such small hands come to be so very deadly with blades?” he wondered aloud. He found her eyes with his and smiled. “How does such a small woman come to be so entirely formidable? Hmm. Do you remember when we first met?” he mused.

Little did he know how recently she had revisited that night in her thoughts. “Yes,” she answered, finding her voice at last. “As I recall, you were behind bars.” She studied his face, wondering where this was going.

“I was,” he laughed, “and I was very rude. I asked why you weren’t ten feet tall with lightning bolts shooting from your eyes.” His face grew serious. “I hated you. It amazes me now to remember how I felt then; it shames me as well. You are the opposite of everything I had assumed you were.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said uncertainly, biting her lower lip.

“If you want compliments,” he said, as he raised a hand to her face, “I can offer as many as you like. You are a beautiful, funny, and compelling woman, Cyana. I would follow anywhere you lead.” With a thumb, he gently tugged her lower lip away from her teeth. He ran his finger the length of her mouth, tracing the shape of it gently. Cyana was certain her heart had stopped beating in her chest. And then, he slid his hand along her jawline and lifted her chin from underneath, balancing her small face on a few of his fingers as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It lasted just a few seconds, a sweet and simple kiss, but a lightning storm had raged through her at his touch and left every inch of her crackling with heat.

“You have to follow me,” she replied once he'd pulled away, “I’m the Warden Commander.” She sat very still, afraid she might throw sparks if she moved, the way Anders did when he cast lightning spells.

Nathaniel gazed at her for several moments with a delighted expression on his face. He raised her hand and brushed a light kiss into her palm. And then, his voice strong, grey eyes sparkling in the firelight, he confessed, “Cy, it’s not because you’re Warden Commander. It’s because I've fallen in love with you.”


	11. A Bump in the Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden incursion at The Crown and Lion interrupts the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback here, yodelkid!

Surely she had misheard him. Surely those words had not just passed over his lips. He was still holding her hand, emotion inscribed all across his face. _Say something, Cyana, for Stone’s sake. Anything!_

But she could not. Cyana Brosca, Commander of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens, slayer of the archdemon Urthemiel and survivor of the Fifth Blight, could not find the words to answer this man who had just confessed his love for her. She had been struck dumb.

She could see the happiness on Nathaniel’s face morphing slowly into doubt. He looked to her for a reaction, yet still she said nothing. Her mind was a deluge of thoughts, her blood was alight in her veins, and she felt the only thing anchoring her to the earth was his strong and gentle hand. She focused on that, lacing her fingers through his as she tried to make sense of her emotions. His brow unpinched slightly.

She closed her eyes and shook her head purposefully, trying to shake her stray thoughts into order. But there was a whispering at the back of her mind that would not quiet. Presently, she was aware of the fact that her blood was not simply boiling from the emotion of the moment - it was _tingling_. She realized immediately what was wrong. _But it **can’t be!**_ “Nathaniel,” she said urgently, “go and wake the others. Now!”

“What?” he said, eyes wide with surprise. “Cy, I don’t under-”

A monstrous roar unexpectedly broke the silence of the tavern, drowning out his words. It was accompanied by feral snarling and the sounds of splintering wood, all coming from beneath them. Dread iced her skin over. She reluctantly withdrew her hand from his and sprinted around the bed to dance into her armor. Nathaniel grabbed his weapons and made swiftly for the door.

Cyana strapped in as quickly as possible, but the screaming began before she could finish. Still, in four minutes she was on the landing outside her room. The door to Anders’ room was thrown open and she could see him grabbing potions and poultices. Crunching and smashing from below was shaking the floor on which she stood. _They must be in the cove beneath the inn._ She moved into Oghren’s room to see Nathaniel had roused him and was helping him into heavy plate. Pauldrons and helm were all that remained. Anders entered the room as Nathaniel was handing Oghren his axe. “Let’s go,” Cyana said grimly.

Men and women from the inn were screaming all around her. Blood streaked across the floor. She ordered everyone near enough to hear to get themselves and others into the guest rooms and stay there. “Barricade the doors!” she shouted at them, hoping they would listen. Darkspawn had swarmed in through the hatch in the tavern’s storage room. They’d broken down the wooden door and filtered through the main hall into the kitchens. She prayed they had not yet made it into the servants’ quarters. She glanced over her shoulder at her men behind her. “Standard plan; emissaries first. The ogre must still be below; he gets priority once we clear out up here. Oghren, you’re down with me. Anders, Nathaniel, cover us from here. Do _not_ let anything or anyone past you. Clear?” They nodded their heads in unison, resolve evident in their expressions. Cyana took a deep breath, and then the fight began.

She surged ahead, running full tilt toward the top of the stairs, where she hit the edge and vaulted forward, drawing her daggers mid-air and landing spryly several feet away, behind the first genlock emissary. She reached around silently and drew a blade across his throat. She immediately flipped backward, avoiding the blade a hurlock had swung at her, too late to save his caster. Before she could even engage him, an arrow sunk itself into his left eye, the tip spraying black out the back of his skull. _Two down._ She slid under the nearest table and disappeared into the shadows. 

The other emissary was across the room, a dozen darkspawn separating them, not that it made any difference to her. She wove between them stealthily, their attention drawn to Oghren in the center of the room. The dwarven berserker was fully immersed in battle, and his rage drew the darkspawn like moths to a flame. Any who ventured too close to the eye of the storm and managed to escape Oghren’s axe were torn down by Anders’ spells. A small heap of bodies already colored the scene.

Enemy magic rained down around her, fireballs and bolts of lightning threatened friend as well as foe. Cyana made it to the emissary just as he aimed a single fireball at Anders and Nathaniel. She broke out of the shadows and with a quick flash of iron, she sliced off a hand with one dagger, dragging the other past one of the genlock’s kidneys. It gave a frail, panicked shout and staggered away from her into the wall. She slung her daggers around to reverse her grip, then buried them to the hilts in the creature’s chest. She watched life flee its eyes before withdrawing.

Most of the remaining darkspawn had their backs to her, focused on Oghren or aiming arrows at the men on the landing. Cyana worked through the three archers first, hitting them silently before they even knew she was there. Multiple hurlocks still engaged the warrior, but one was pathing away, toward the stairs. Something glimmered in her peripheral vision, and with a split-second’s worth of warning she saw the genlock rogue break stealth behind her mage. “ **Anders!** ” she screamed. He got the barrier up with no room to spare, the genlock’s daggers bouncing off the magical shield and throwing him backwards. Anders spun round and enveloped the darkspawn in a cage made of energy - it collapsed slowly inward, crushing the genlock to death.

Nathaniel put three arrows into the hurlock before it got up the first two steps, felling it, then returned his attention to Oghren. Just a pair of hurlocks remained. Cyana snuck up behind the closest, slicing the tendon at his ankle. He buckled, unable to support his own weight, body half twisting as he fell. Once exposed, she put a dagger through his neck. She looked up to see the final hurlock explode in a shower of flesh and blood - the work of some spell from Anders. There were none remaining.

She looked over her men. Oghren was bleeding in a few places, but Anders was already making his way down the stairs to tend him. Nathaniel made straight for her, and wordlessly they went into the kitchens. Beyond, the door to the servants’ quarters had been smashed in. Cyana had a revolting feeling in the pit of her stomach, but they entered the room and found two twisted corpses on the floor, neither of them human. Several of the kitchen staff had been sprayed with blood, but the beefy barkeep stood at the head of the small group, drenched in gore. “Blighted fuckers,” the dwarf growled, brandishing a blade. “Not getting through me.”

“Indeed,” Nathaniel replied, clearly impressed. They turned back toward the bar.

Anders had cleaned Oghren up. Cyana grabbed a rag from a rack on the bar and wiped grime from her face and blades. The grips of her daggers were coated in slimy, black darkspawn blood, which she hastily cleaned off. The room was soaked in the smell of death and decay, the metallic note of blood underscoring everything. “We need to get downstairs,” she announced. “Are you ready?”

Anders nodded. “So far so good. Thanks, by the way.” She knew he meant her warning. She nodded in return.

“My bow is always ready,” Nathaniel offered, drawing yet another arrow from the quiver on his back.

Oghren grunted an affirmative. He yanked an unsmashed bottle off the floor, ripped the cork out with his teeth, took a long pull and then chucked it over his shoulder. It shattered somewhere behind the bar. “Aye, Commander. Let’s get that ogre,” he said.

Cyana heard movement behind and spun, weapons raised, but it was just the staff filtering out of the kitchen to escape through the front door. The barkeep was with them. “I’ll stay here and help them out,” the man said gruffly.

“There are others upstairs in the rooms. Get them out, too. Send one of them to fetch Constable Aidan as well. We’re going into the cove.” Cyana indicated the broken hatch through the storage room door.

“Good luck,” the man responded, saluting them with a fist over his heart. He shoved the last few people out the front door and traipsed off toward the guest rooms. The Wardens made for the underground passage.


	12. Prelude to an Ogre.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens are joined by the city guard to combat the remaining darkspawn.

The four of them stood side by side, looking down into darkness. Wild, grunting calls could be heard echoing in the passage below. The smell of saltwater floated up through the hatch, and the lapping of tiny waves intermingled with the savage noises of the darkspawn. Cyana knelt down at the edge of the opening. With soft, fluid movements she stripped herself of weapons other than the dirk in her boot. She swung herself over the lip of the hole and began her descent. “Stay here a moment,” Cyana said, eyes meeting each of theirs, “I’m going scouting.”

Her feet landed on damp wood in near-zero visibility. There was faint, flickering light coming from somewhere ahead, beyond a curve in the wall. She stood still and listened for several moments before deciding no one was in her immediate vicinity. Cyana tried to conjure a mental image of how the cove had looked when they’d run some smugglers out of it a few months ago. 

The sloping path in front of her was actually a short tunnel that eventually opened into a moderately large cavern. The sea entered from the left. On the right, the cave naturally divided into two sections with a wall of stone separating them. A storage area had been constructed in the pocket closest to the tunnel, the floor built on a platform to protect goods from the tide. The other pocket was larger and had no discernable purpose at the time. At the opposite end of the cavern, she recalled a second door that led directly into the city. The thought sent panic spasming into her chest.

Cyana moved forward immediately, following the contour of the tunnel. The air was thick with smoke and tinged with the dank stench of darkspawn. Their guttural clamor became louder as she swept silently through the darkness. She passed the final twist in the tunnel and arrived at the beginning of the cave, where she immediately spotted a half dozen of the fiends at the far side of the space, lurking about the mouth of the path they’d dug from the Deep Roads into the cove. Her heart leapt at the sight; when they’d burrowed through, the debris had fallen to the side of their entrance and buried the other door. They did not even know it was there. 

Cyana allowed herself a breath of relief before slinking off along the wall to her right. She needed a full view of the cave and could not achieve it from the tunnel. Skirting along in front of the storage platform, she came to a stop at the wall where that side of the cave split into sections. Past the corner, she could hear the darkspawn lurking. _3...2...1…_

The stone was slick and chill against her face as she craned her head around it. The tainted creatures were sitting mostly in two small packs, each one situated around a fire. Four emissaries and roughly a dozen and a half other spawn besides. And then she saw it, resting in the shadows against the farthest wall - the ogre. It was breathtakingly massive. Firelight glimmered sickly against its damp, mottled skin. Two huge horns jutted from the skull, twisted things that spiralled out of control and eventually terminated in broken, dulled ends. She shuddered at the sight of it. After quickly double-checking her count, she turned and rushed soundlessly back to her men.

Cyana climbed swiftly up the ladder, causing Anders to let out a cry of surprise when her head floated abruptly out of the abyss. She shot him an amused look as she clambered out of the hole; Nathaniel and Oghren appeared relieved. Kneeling, she sheathed her daggers and re-equipped her bow and quiver. Noticing the filth carpeting the floor from the darkspawn’s surge into the tavern, she decided to make use of it. With a finger she sketched the layout of the cave, marking where the fires and the ogre were positioned. She also indicated where Anders and Nathaniel should be during the fight. She surveyed her work after a moment, satisfied.

“Two and a half dozen total, plus an ogre. Four emissaries: two hurlock, two genlock. A number of rogues, but it looks like they sent all their archers up here in the initial push, so no worries there.” She paused for a breath, tucking stray red strands of hair back into her helmet. She could still hear footsteps on the floor above - guests of the tavern being led out by the barkeep. That it was taking so long likely meant some were seriously injured. She pushed the thought aside. “We go as before. Emissaries first. The ogre was resting, probably worn out from shouldering most of the labor involved in breaking through. If we're lucky, I'll get the casters down before he's even on his feet. If we _aren't_ lucky, Anders will keep him as immobile as possible til those casters are dealt with.”

“Nathaniel, Anders, you're here and here,” she indicated marks on her sketch. “Oghren, pull them out toward the water, here, with these two behind you on the platform. They'll have to come ‘round the wall to engage us. If we're overwhelmed, retreat to the tunnel as a choke point. Questions?”

“Where’ll you be?” Oghren asked observantly.

A clever grin slid into place on Cyana’s lips. “In the shadows. When you pull them ‘round the corner the emissaries will have to move, and they'll most likely shift toward the mouth of their tunnel. I'll be on the wall, waiting for you to engage, and then I'll cut them down from behind one by one as they look for line of sight. If any make it, Anders or Nathaniel can take them out.” She said the last part casually.

“5 sovereigns says you miss a hurlock,” Anders offered, a challenging glint in his tawny eyes.

“You are a foolish man, my friend,” put in Nathaniel.

“You're on, Anders,” Cyana affirmed. “You follow Oghren down. Nathaniel and I after.”

The dwarven warrior took it slowly, rung by rung, trying to make as little noise as possible in his plate. Anders followed him swiftly, hands and feet deftly moving down the ladder. Nathaniel was halfway gone before Cyana spoke. “Nathaniel, wait.” He froze in place and she knelt down, her head only slightly above his own. Her bright, cyan eyes swept his face before meeting his gaze. “Did you mean what you said?” she asked, voice a mere whisper.  
He arched a dark brow in surprise. “Yes,” he said fervently, “absolutely.”

She grinned gleefully at him. “Then let’s get this done. We have things to discuss after,” she answered. Nathaniel smiled ruefully and disappeared down the ladder. Cyana moved to follow, but heard heavy footfalls just outside the small storage room. Seconds later, Constable Aidan stormed in, accompanied by several of his guards. “Constable,” she greeted him, nodding her head in his direction.

“Warden Commander! What’s happened? We’re here to lend any aid we-”

Cyana interrupted him. “In 5 minutes, Constable, you and your men will storm down this tunnel. There are 2 dozen darkspawn lurking below, including an ogre.”

“Maker’s _breath!_ ” Aidan cursed. “Wouldn’t you rather we follow you now?”

“5 minutes, Aidan, or you owe me 5 sovereigns” she ordered, and disappeared without another word.


	13. A Salty Victory.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens and guards clash with the remaining darkspawn in the cove beneath The Crown and Lion.

As silently as possible, the four of them made their way down the wending slope into the cave. Anders conjured a barrier around Oghren to muffle the sound of his clinking plate. They reached the cove without drawing attention and Cyana signalled to indicate their places. “Give me thirty seconds to get in position,” she whispered, then she vanished into shadows.

As before, Cyana slipped around the right side of the room, following the stone wall to the smuggler’s platform. She took extra care to be dead silent as she slid around the corner into the rear cavern space. A quick assessment told her nothing had changed in the time she’d been gone, so she walked along the wall toward the nearer fire, where the two genlock emissaries had settled. She slithered into place behind them, merely a shadow on the stone, and waited for Oghren to move.

“Hey you slimy bastards!" he yelled suddenly, out of sight beyond the wall. "Come dance with Oghren!” He caused a great deal clanking and banging as he charged forward, causing two and a half dozen heads to spin instantly in his direction. Several 'spawn drew weapons and moved toward the noise immediately, but the genlocks she was stalking had been seated before their fire. Cyana struck from her hiding place as soon as their heads had turned, well before either had any hope of standing. In the space of a breath, a blade’s tip bloomed through each of their chests. Hot, black ichor gushed from the wounds as she withdrew the weapons and the corpses fell in silent heaps to the floor.

The nearest hurlock was just 10 paces away, no more aware of her than a fly is of the spider’s web before it’s trapped. She sprinted quickly up behind him, conscious of the magic already crackling about the tip of his staff. She threw a swift kick into the rear of his knee and he crumpled, snarling, but at half-height his throat was easy to kiss with her dagger. He gave a strangled gurgle and died. _One left._

An earsplitting roar shattered the air around her, seeming to shake the very walls of the cavern itself. Cyana spun, watching the ogre draw itself up to full height, brawny muscles flexing threateningly as it focused on her and stepped forward. At the same time, she heard the incoming bolt of energy on her left and dove immediately to avoid it, unfortunately placing herself closer to the ogre. The orb of electricity meant for her smashed into the cavern wall, the energy dispersing from the point of impact like so many miniature lightning strikes.

Cyana rolled out of her dive and crouched before springing to the left to avoid the ogre’s incoming fist. It collided instead with the cavern floor, blasting sand and chunks of rock into the air in all directions. She spun again and sprinted straight for the final emissary, the ogre charging behind her. The hurlock was already summoning another version of death, blinding magic blazing around the end of his staff. _I’m not going to make it in time._

With no other options, Cyana spun her blade in her hand as the hurlock released his spell. The metal was slick with blood between her fingers, but she cocked her arm back and hurled her weapon as hard as she could at the caster. With no time even to watch it land, she launched herself away and to the right, crashing into the wall. 

A massive ball of flames erupted against the ground in the space she’d just occupied, splashing out several feet behind the impact. She felt scorched despite immediately flattening herself against the stone. Heat flared against her entire back side, and while the leather of her armor protected much of her, the metal fastenings seared red hot against her skin. She muffled her own scream against the wall even as the ogre bellowed in pain - he was so close that the sound of it resonated in her chest. 

The incredible heat of the inferno lasted just a few moments, but that was more than enough to be devastating. She peeled her face from the wall and saw the magic had ended with the emissary’s life - there was no energy to feed it as a result of the blade now protruding from the darkspawn’s belly. Cyana ripped the only poultice she had from her belt and smeared it along the backs of her exposed arms and legs. The relief was instantaneous, her stabbing agony reduced to a mild throbbing by the herbal paste.

An explosion of new voices in the cove indicated Aidan’s men had arrived. She saw them emerge from the mouth of the tunnel and smash into the small horde surrounding Oghren. Cyana exhaled, not aware until that moment that she’d even been holding her breath. Several guards broke ranks and made for the ogre, who was still wailing several feet away from her, flames licking his skin as he tried uselessly to bat them out. They took him down quickly, the decimation caused by the blaze proving too distracting for the beast to defend himself. With the major threats eliminated, the Commander moved to check on her men.

The final darkspawn were falling as Cyana jogged around to the smuggler’s storage area after retrieving her thrown dagger. Her men were bloodied but alive. Several 'spawn had made it up to Anders and Nathaniel before being cut down. Nathaniel limped and Anders sported a bloody face; several darkspawn corpses littered the platform around them. Oghren was flushed and drenched in gore. Half his armor lay at his feet. Something had hit him hard enough to dent his breastplate in, making it hard for him to breathe. Aidan and 2 of his guards were prying the damaged piece off as she arrived.

“Commander,” the dwarf grunted, voice ever hoarser than usual.

“You alright, Oghren?” she asked.

“Nothing a hard drink can’t fix,” he answered with a wheezy laugh. Oghren took a shallow breath. “How long you think before they open the bar again?” he asked chuckling. Cyana laughed silently as she moved off toward the others. Moments later she heard the breastplate come loose and clatter noisily to the ground.

Anders was sitting on the railing of the platform, shoulders slumped, head facing upward. The front of his robe was stained bright red, his blood still glistening in the dim light. Nathaniel had a cloth in his hand and he was gently wiping Anders’ face, trying to clean off the carnage from a massive cut running forehead to chin down the left side, the skin split to the bone above his brow. Both eyes were stuck shut with blood, and streaks of his hair were deep red instead of their normal blonde. “What in the Paragons' names happened?” she asked.

“Little bastard snuck right up in front of me and I didn’t have you to warn me this time,” he said, his split lip oozing with each word, “but Nathaniel’s eyes are as good as yours. He shoved me aside at the last moment so the blade only grazed me. Damn thing had launched itself right at my head!”

“Well, give him credit for ambition at least,” Cyana shrugged. “Your head’s pretty high up.” Anders laughed and the movement sent fresh blood oozing from his wound. Nathaniel threw the cloth down in aggravation.

“Damn it, Anders! Come on,” he said, grabbing the blonde man by the arm. “There’s an easier way to get this off.” Nathaniel hoisted Anders off the railing and slung an arm around him. Cyana followed as they hobbled haphazardly down to the water together. She helped Nathaniel get Anders to his knees in the shallows, trying not to accidentally rinse any of her poultice off. "This is going to sting," Nathaniel warned.

"Great," Anders replied. Nathaniel cupped his large hands together under the water, then splashed it gently into Anders' face. "Andraste's knicker weasels!" he yelped, shrinking backward. 

"You could just lean forward and dunk your head in," Cyana suggested. "It'd come off quicker."

"Alright," Anders mumbled. He stuck his hands in next to his knees to brace himself, then splashed face-first into the salty water. He surfaced after several seconds, throwing his soaked hair off his face with a hand. He blinked his eyes rapidly. "Well, that is better. Hand me that poultice would you?" he asked Nathaniel. Anders smudged it all over the lacerated side of his face, which had already begun to leak again, but the thick blend covered the wound and stopped the bleeding. “There. Now I can deal with you.” The two men left the water for the sandy floor of the cave.

“Lovely,” Nathaniel said, staggering toward the mage. Anders’ hands were already glowing as the dark-haired man approached him. Keen eyes looked to the gaping slash near Nathaniel’s hip, which Cyana had not even noticed. Practiced healer's fingers inspected the wound and the area around it, assessing the extent of the damage. Satisfied, the magic around his palms flared momentarily, the bright glow illuminating the cavern around them. It lit Nathaniel's face so that Cyana could see the pain vanish from his features. “Mmm,” he sighed, “thank you, Anders. Much better.” He tested the leg with his full weight and smiled happily. “Your turn,” he said to Cyana.

“Not here. Later,” she answered. Anders looked at her quizzically. “The fire hit my back,” she explained. “Most of me’s unscathed, but in the rush I only had cottons. I’m going to have quite a few burns where the metal fittings scorched right through. It’s well enough for now,” she said, spinning to show him the applied poultice.

“Right then,” Anders agreed immediately. “I’ll see to Oghren, then I’m going upstairs to find a looking glass and deal with my own face before it scars. I'll be in my room when you’re ready.” He ran his hands over his hair and squeezed out some of the remaining seawater, then stood and made his way toward Oghren.

“Anders?” she called suddenly. He glanced back at her. “You owe me 5 sovereigns,” she said, grinning proudly. He guffawed and walked away.

“Are you alright?” Nathaniel asked softly. He’d moved closer without her noticing, and his presence so near was extremely comforting. She looked him up and down. He was disheveled and gory and his face was sweaty; stray hairs clung to it among smudged dirt and gore. His leathers were ripped across one hip and blood-drenched down to his boot. Only a few arrows remained in his quiver, and judging by the grime on his dagger he'd had to make ample use of that as well.

“I’m fine,” she said, reaching up to entwine her fingers with his. She met his gaze, those slate grey eyes enchanting her; he seemed surprised, but pleased, by her gesture. “I have to speak to Aidan and get someone working on closing up that tunnel. And _then_ I imagine I’ll need to speak to the innkeep who I’m sure will be here any moment if he’s not already upstairs.” It occurred to her suddenly that she didn’t know either the barman's or the tavern owner’s names. _Remember to ask._ “And _**then**_ I need to see Anders,” she sighed, becoming acutely aware of the dull heat on her back.

He gave her a knowing smile; there was much they wanted to say to one another, yet no time at the moment to do so. “I understand,” he said, “It will wait.” He bent forward and tipped her helmet back, revealing her forehead and just a bit of her bright red mess of hair. He kissed her there softly, then replaced her helmet and turned toward the tunnel to the inn. Warmth swelled in Cyana’s chest as she watched him go before Constable Aidan intruded upon her reverie.

“Warden Commander?” he asked nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to… interrupt,” he said, his eyes on Nathaniel's retreating form.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” she answered reassuringly. He seemed to relax a bit. “You arrived just on time, well done. How are your men?”

“A few scrapes and bruises, all minor. You’d done most of the hard work before we arrived. A fair bit of it single-handedly, I am told.” She wasn’t sure if that information had left him impressed by her or intimidated.

“And new work appears to replace it. That breach in the walls needs to be sealed as soon as possible. Do you have the resources to do it?” she asked.

“Certainly. What men I cannot spare from the guard, we can hire from the refugees - a fair few who have passed through quarantine and been let into the city are looking for work.”

“Good,” she approved. “Toss the bodies back down the tunnel first - they’ll serve as fair warning. Then seal it up. Use what debris they dug out themselves and whatever it takes beyond that to fill it completely. Make it _tight_ , Constable. That and the corpses should keep them from trying it again.” 

“As you say, Warden Commander,” he saluted. “I… If you had not been here tonight, this would have been much worse. They might even have made it into the city before we were aware of their presence. I appreciate what you’ve done. We all do.”

“That is what Grey Wardens do, Constable Aidan, but you are welcome nonetheless. I expect you would like a full report as well?” she asked.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said apologetically.

“Let’s return to the inn, then. I’d rather do it now while it’s fresh.” Cyana was weary, the prickling pain along her back threatening to become a nuisance soon if left unaddressed, but she ignored it for the time being and accompanied the guard back to the tavern.


	14. Found Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duty comes before comfort as Cyana deals with the aftermath of the attack.

It took most of an hour to detail the entire evening's sequence of events to Constable Aidan. They sat together at a table in the tavern's main room. Many of the staff had been brought in and they'd made remarkably quick work of tidying the place while Cyana and Aidan were in conference. There remained some damage that would take longer to fix, like the storage room door, the small heap of smashed furniture, and the bloodstains on the walls and floor, but it already looked mostly the same as it did before the attack. The majority of the workers had moved on to the rooms upstairs while the cooking staff busied themselves in the kitchen, delightful scents floating out into the barroom.

Once Aidan had taken his leave, Cyana spent a small amount of time meeting with the innkeeper and the barman. The innkeeper, Jasper, thanked her repeatedly. He promised the reserved room to her permanently and meals on the house for her Wardens anytime they stayed. She tried to politely refuse, but he would not have it. The barman, Dartan, briefly explained what had happened before the Wardens had appeared on the landing. When Cyana confirmed he'd slain two of the beasts by himself, saving several members of the staff, Jasper promptly gave him a raise. She excused herself after, explaining her pressing need to see Anders while thanking Jasper for his kindness and Dartan for his assistance.

She walked uncomfortably up the stairs and down the hall to Anders' room, wondering vaguely what time it was; no sun yet shone through the inn's many windows. His door was open and she entered to find him writing. He looked up when he heard her; his face bore no evidence of the havoc wreaked upon it just few hours ago. "There you are," he said, his expression concerned. He stood up and moved to close the door behind her. "Do you need help getting everything off?" he asked.

"Probably," she groaned. Just moving her limbs had become painful at that point; the skin on the back of her arms and legs felt tight and it pulsed along with her heartbeat. She dumped the helm and gloves she'd pulled off earlier on the floor, then began unbuckling whatever required the least amount of movement. Anders knelt down beside her, getting buckles by her shoulders, ankles, and the scattered few she missed. She held her arms out and let him lift the cuirass off her; it stuck slightly to her back, whether from sweat or worse she could not say. The legguards came off easier, but the thin straps in back had done little to protect her legs from the fire. She stood before him in what remained of her cotton shirt and trousers; both were tattered and blackened. 

He turned her to face her back directly and inhaled sharply. "Is it that bad?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

"It's pretty bad, Cy. Your arms and legs are a mess, but the skin's not damaged except from the heat. The poultice helped, too, and when I'm done it'll be like it was never there. Your torso though..." he trailed off, his hands pulling strips of her shirt off her body. She could feel what stuck to sweat and what was fused with her skin where the metal had seared the two together. He worked slowly, removing bits and pieces as gently as possible. Eventually, Cyana pulled the remaining halves of her shirt and breast band off, dropping them on the floor beside her. She stood patiently for what seemed like ages before he said, "There will be scarring. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Anders," she said. "At least it isn't where I can see it." She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a small smile.

He smiled back and said, "Onto the bed with you, face down so I can work." She strode over to the bed where he helped her up, gently lifting her around the hips to avoid most of the damaged skin. She lay down on the soft coverlet and he moved toward her legs, gently tearing through the destroyed trousers to expose her skin completely. As with Nathaniel, he inspected the damage thoroughly before drawing on the healing magic. The heat dissipated almost immediately, and she could feel the tightness and pulsing sensation fade soon after. He moved up her left leg first, then the right. "How's it feel so far?"

She flexed tentatively, lifting her ankles up toward her bum. The movement felt as it should; loose and painless. "Like normal," she said, pleased. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Arms next." Anders' fingers explored the flesh along her arms, softly poking and prodding intermittently. "The right is worse than the left," he said. "What in the Maker's name hit you, anyway?" The fire went out in her left arm under the mage's glowing hands, the puffy flesh returning to its normal, supple state as he worked.

"Hurlock emissary, some gigantic fire spell. I only just dodged it. I flattened against the cavern wall as it erupted behind me. The ogre got it worse than me," she said with relief. Her right arm was also now feeling as it usually did. He stepped back and she flexed at the elbows and shoulders. "Good," she said.

"Excellent. Hold still now, this might hurt." Anders leaned over the bed, hovering directly above her core. The magic he called upon this time glowed brighter than the previous spells. She felt sharp, intense pinching all along her back before the pain became dull and unfocused and then disappeared entirely. After several minutes, the glow dimmed and Anders sighed heavily. "Done," he announced, sitting down heavily beside her.

"Are you alright?" she asked alarmed. Covering herself as best she could with her arms and hands, she sat up and felt something falling away from her skin. Metal flakes and tiny bits of cotton littered the bed. Her back felt wonderful, but Anders looked exhausted. "What did you do?" she wondered.

"You had cloth and iron both embedded in your skin. I couldn't very well leave it. I drew it out, magically separating it from your flesh, then healed the wounds like normal. I've never tried that first bit before. Takes a bit more energy than I'd expected," he admitted. He took several deep breaths and steadied himself. He sat up straighter and reassured her, "I need some food, that's all. Fix me right up." He stood and walked to his pack, resting on a nearby chair. He dug around inside for several moments before pulling out a clean cotton undershirt. "We can't have you wandering The Crown and Lion naked, can we?"

“No,” she said, “but don’t waste a clean one on me. I’m filthy. I’m having a bath as soon as I can.” He shrugged and placed the clean shirt back in his pack. He pulled another one from a small pile hung over the back of the chair and tossed it to her.

She caught it with a hand. It smelled of him, like spices and woods and incense in a quiet library: at once familiar and comforting, but with a hint of adventure. He faced away, but rather than put the shirt on she held it in front of her as she hopped down off the bed. The tall looking glass he'd used to heal his face still rested against the wall in his room. She stood before it, looking over her shoulder at her back, which was now speckled all over with small circular scars, fresh and red. "Will they fade over time?" she asked him. Her arms and legs looked as they always did - no trace of the damage remained there, as he’d promised.

"Possibly. Most scars do, but scars caused by magic aren’t normal scars," he said. 

She pulled the shirt over her head; on her it was more accurately a dress. She darted across the room and threw her arms around her friend's waist. _Far more than a friend, really. Family._ He was tall enough, and she small enough, that her chin fell only just above his navel as she hugged him fiercely. He laughed and prized her arms from his hips before kneeling down to hug her properly. Cyana buried her face against his neck. "Thank you, Anders," she whispered fervently. 

He squeezed her tightly in return. "Anytime, Cy," he replied softly. 

She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away smiling. She wanted desperately to share her news about Nathaniel, but decided to wait until she spoke with Nathaniel himself. With a word of goodnight, she left. Cyana intended to drop her gear off in her room and then search out a servant to draw a bath. She could figure out what of her kit was salvageable while she waited on the water. As she arrived at her room, however, the door swung open and a young man stepped out. “Excuse me, Warden Commander,” he said with a bow, “your bath is ready.”

“My bath?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “One of the Wardens asked that we fetch it for you just a short while ago, after you finished speaking with Jasper and Dartan.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Which Warden?”

The boy looked unsure. “The one with the dark hair. He’s left a note for you as well, on the table,” he gestured behind himself.

Intrigued, she dismissed him. “Thank you,” she said, and he bowed once more and left. Cyana entered and locked the door behind her. She dumped her gear unceremoniously on the floor in a corner of her room, passing the large, steaming tub on her way. She hurried back toward the table, where a note indeed awaited her.

“I thought you might enjoy a bath before bed. Sleep well. ~N”

She'd never seen his handwriting before. His script was clean and simple, for which she was thankful - often the fancy, elegant scripts were more difficult for her to read. She read it through a few times, emotion rising in her chest. He'd stayed up long enough to follow her progress to Anders, making sure she was taken care of. Cyana smiled and tucked the note carefully between a few pages of the book from Leliana. She thought of the small drawer in her quarters at the Vigil in which she kept a few items of sentimental value; she’d add the note when they returned to the Keep. After replacing the book in her reading chair, she tugged Anders' shirt off and slipped contentedly into the waiting bath.


	15. Afternoon Delight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyana and Nathaniel finally have a chance to talk... but they mostly spend it doing other things instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY SMUT.

It was mid afternoon before Cyana decided to drag herself from the bed. She’d have stayed longer, dozing lazily in the warm sunlight drenching her room, but she was starting to get rather hungry. After stretching, washing up, and putting smalls on, she stood rooting through her pack for appropriate clothes. It felt strange dressing to be seen in public with no intention of putting armor on afterward. She’d settled on a blue cotton tunic and pulled it over her head. She was dragging the dark leather leggings on when a knock came at the door.

“Who is it?” she cried, tugging the leggings up and lacing them at the waist.

“Nathaniel,” he answered simply.

Her heart began to race in her chest. _Why is being around him so much easier when we’ve just got done killing things?_ “Just a sec,” she called back, lacing up the tunic and raking her fingers through her hair. She pulled socks onto her tiny feet and then padded to the door to let him in.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile, sweeping quietly into the room. He, too, was dressed casually, in leggings and a shirt much like her own. His tunic, however, was emerald green; the color suited him well. His hair was down, not half tied back as usual, and it fell softly around his face, the dark color making his eyes even more arresting than normal. She drew a breath in sharply, overwhelmed with the idea that a man so beautiful might be hers.

“Good afternoon,” she corrected him playfully. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, shutting the door behind him.

He sat lightly on the edge of the bed. “Yes, thank you. Did you?”

“I did. I think having a lovely bath might have had something to do with it,” she shrugged. “I came back from Anders’ room to find one waiting for me.”

He laughed gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Was Anders able to fix you up?” Her face fell somewhat at the question. She’d run a hand up her back as far as she was able while bathing, feeling the little bumps that now peppered her torso. They’d never go away. “I’m sorry,” he said, noticing her reaction. “I didn’t mean-”

She shook her head. “No, it’s alright. Anders did his best. It would’ve been much worse without him, I’m sure, but…,” she noticed she’d unconsciously reached up beneath the hem of her shirt to touch the tiny marks. She withdrew her hand and looked at him uncomfortably.

Nathaniel stood up and moved to where she stood, kneeling down beside her. “May I?” he asked gently, gesturing toward her back.

Wordlessly she turned away from him, slowly pulling the hem of her shirt up toward her shoulders. She held quite still, awaiting his judgment. He placed a hand on her back, fingers splayed slightly as he slowly slid his palm over her skin, his callouses faintly scratching her. After a moment he said consolingly, “At least they’re here where you don’t have to look at them.”

Cyana laughed at their similar reactions. She pulled her shirt down and turned toward him, feeling reassured. “That’s actually pretty much what I said,” she told him, meeting his eyes with hers.

Nathaniel palmed her cheek, thumbing a stray hair from her face. “They could be all over, you know. I’d still love you,” he said easily.

She felt her face go hot, but wasn’t sure whether she flushed from embarrassment or joy. _What does it matter?_ Cyana put her arms around his neck, her fingers in his silky hair. She looked him full in the face and said, “I love you, too.”

The smile he graced her with then was the biggest she’d ever seen from him. He put his arms around her and stood, scooping her up into a huge hug. She hitched her legs up around his waist and held him as tightly as she could. Her head was drunk on joy and her entire body felt airy, like she’d float away if she lost her grip on him.

Nathaniel resumed his seat on the bed and she eased her grip, leaning away from him enough to see his face. He was elated, gazing at her with such affection it nearly took her breath away. “Are you surprised?” she wondered.

He gave a short laugh. “Well, you hadn’t said it back,” he shrugged. “I thought maybe I’d just fooled myself. Maybe I’d read our relationship wrong or misinterpreted what you have with Anders.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I love Anders, that much is true, but it’s the sort of relationship I imagine siblings have when they’re close, the same relationship I have with Alistair. I was never close with Rica, so I can’t be sure…” She paused and shook her head, trying to work it out. “It’s more than friends, yes, but distinctly different from how I feel about you.”

“What makes it different?” he asked curiously, holding her close in his lap.

In answer, she wound her fingers lightly into his hair and pulled him close. “This,” she whispered, and kissed him.

Nathaniel’s response was immediate. He returned the kiss, his lips eager against hers. His hands wandered down her back, over her hips and under her ass as he pulled her closer to him. He slid his tongue into a kiss and she opened to it, tasting him hungrily, their mouths slick and soft together. She pulled her face away and planted kisses on his chin and down his throat. He sighed softly, then laid back, pulling her down on top of him.

She gasped. He smiled at her before putting a hand on either side of her face and kissing her all over - on her nose, eyes, forehead. He pulled her lips back to his, kissing her with a sweet impatience. She returned it, their tongues dancing together, her desire building with every touch.

She could feel his building as well, his erection growing beneath her hips. It made her hot just to think of it, heat prickling in waves over her skin. She pulled her mouth from his and sat up, straddling him. She ran a hand through her hair, brushing it off her face and biting her lip coyly as she undid the lacing at the top of her tunic. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch her.

She opened the neck and pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it on the bed beside them. Nathaniel ran his tongue over his lips when she hooked her thumbs under the breast band and loosened it in the back before pulling it away. She dropped it on top of the shirt. 

He grinned at her and then quickly sat up, hooking an arm around her waist and easily flipping their positions, laying her beneath him on the bed. Kneeling, he pulled his own tunic off before laying on top of her, bracing his weight with one arm. He ran a finger along her jawline to her chin, then down her throat and over her breast bone to her navel. She shivered under his touch. 

He moved to kiss her, starting where his finger stopped, licking a small circle around her navel before kissing his way up her chest, between her breasts, over her throat and past her chin back to her lips. He kissed her deeply, pressing his body against hers, his hand sliding back up to her chest. 

He cupped her breast and swirled a fingertip around her nipple. Cyana moaned softly against his mouth when he squeezed. She’d run her own hands down his back, her fingers roaming greedily over the muscles she’d often admired but never been able to touch. She slipped her tongue over his lips, wanting more kissing, more touching, more everything. She wanted all of him, desperately.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him even closer. She could feel how hard he was against her, and she rocked her hips in response. She was wet, ready, and she wanted him to know it. Nathaniel groaned into her neck, his teeth tugging gently at her skin. His mouth found her ear and nibbled, sending sparks of pleasure racing across her skin. “Nathaniel,” she breathed, “I want you.”

“I know,” he whispered back. His voice was smug with the satisfaction of it. She drug her nails down his back and continued to buck her hips beneath him. _He **is** just a man; he can only resist so long._ Cyana pulled his mouth back to hers, passionately kissing him once more. She plucked at his lower lip with her teeth, her tongue entwined with his, her hands in his hair, on his shoulders, sliding down his chest. Her fingers met the lacing on his leggings and kept going until she was rubbing his erection through the soft leather.

His breathing hitched and he moaned at her touch, his body’s need for her overcoming his desire to take his time. His hand found her belly and the lacing on her leggings. He yanked at them in his haste to undress her, never taking his mouth from hers, their lips meeting again and again. She unlaced his leggings as well, sliding her hands beneath them and shoving them down over his hips just as he tugged hers off entirely.

Nathaniel stopped kissing her, a roguish grin playing on his lips as he pulled away. He slid down her torso and took a nipple into his mouth while a hand slowly wandered up her inner thigh. Cyana gasped, her back arching as he sucked and mouthed her flesh. His fingers reached her hidden lips, hot and wet and waiting. He drew his thumb down her slit and she moaned, loudly, wanting nothing more at that moment than to feel him inside her. 

He ran his thumb back up, pressing harder, slipping inside her soft folds and finding her clit. He fingered it, drawing tiny, gentle circles. Cyana cried out, already so close to the edge, her pleasure intensified by finally getting what she’d wanted for so long. He slid a finger inside her, torturously slowly, and she could stand it no longer. “Nathaniel, please…” she moaned, working her fingers into his hair. “I need you.”

His lips were on hers again in a moment, his kissing frenzied. His hand withdrew and pushed her thighs apart. He pushed his body against hers, the feeling of him driving her mad with lust. And finally, finally, she felt his tip, hot and hard against her sex.

“Commander!” a voice called, somewhere out in the inn. _It can wait._ She gyrated her hips, rubbing herself against his shaft. “Commander!” closer this time.

She stopped undulating. "Do you hear that?” she asked Nathaniel unhappily.

“I do,” he answered sadly, and suddenly footsteps sounded outside her door. Nathaniel rolled off her and yanked the blanket on top of them as her door burst open and Oghren scrambled in.

“Commander, there’s an attack,” he screamed, searching the room for her. His eyes landed on the bed, where now only her face could be seen above the blanket, the rest of her, and all of Nathaniel, hidden beneath. Oghren was profoundly surprised. “Shit,” he said shocked. “Commander I, uh, sorry. I didn’t know you had, er, company. The city is under attack. Anders is downstairs and I came to get you. We can’t find Nathaniel.”

 _ **NOW?!**_ “Who is attacking?” she asked quickly.

“Darkspawn. A large force, maybe the Mother’s. They’re not in the city yet, but the tower guards spotted them moving in along the Pilgrim’s Path.”

“Fine. Return to Anders, we’ll be there in a moment,” she said, realizing her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

Oghren had turned to leave, but stopped and faced her once more, a salacious smile on his face. “...did you say ‘we’?” he asked with deep amusement.

Cyana sighed. “Sorry,” she said to Nathaniel as he poked his head out from the blanket.

“Hello, Oghren,” he said, surprisingly unabashed.

His mouth dropped open, eyes wide as he started briefly at the two of them. “Well,” the dwarf replied, a deviant smile on his bushy face, “how was it?”

“OUT!” Cyana shouted, pointing him toward the door. Oghren guffawed as he took his leave, closing the door behind him. She could hear him laughing all the way down the hall.

“Fuck!” Cyana yelled, collapsing back on the pillows. Nathaniel chuckled and snaked his arm around her. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips.

“There’s no reason we can’t finish this later,” he said silkily in her ear, his mouth on her neck and jawbone.

“If you don’t stop right now,” she threatened, her body already responding to his advances, “we’re going to lose this whole damn city to darkspawn while we’re here in bed.”

“That would be bad, I suppose,” he concurred. “Let’s go then. The sooner we save the city, the sooner we can get back to what we were doing.” They grinned at one another and got out of bed to dress for the coming battle.


	16. Preparations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is coming. It's time to get ready.

Cyana’s legguards, gloves, and helm would need repairing once they returned to the Vigil, but they remained serviceable for the moment. Her cuirass and boots, however, were another matter altogether; both had been savaged by the fire in the cove. Any human-child-sized leather boots in the city would do well enough as replacements for the impending fight, but chest protection was going to be harder to come by. She hoped Constable Aidan would have something to contribute. In the meantime, over her tunic she donned her light leather jerkin as it had escaped the fire’s destruction by virtue of absence - in her rush during the chaos she’d neglected to equip it beneath her cuirass. She slipped simple leather booties over her socks for the trip to the guard barracks.

She and Nathaniel departed several minutes later and found Oghren and Anders awaiting them in the hall. The mage’s mouth dropped open at the sight of them leaving her room together. He stared at them, mouth agape, before slipping a hand into his coat and passing a single sovereign to Oghren. The dwarf’s face was alight with glee as he pocketed the coin. He folded his arms across his chest and looked from Anders’ dumbstruck face, to Cyana’s sheepish one, to Nathaniel’s neutral expression. “Been an expensive trip for you, Anders,” Cy joked, hoping to break the tension. It worked. Anders’ returned to himself, chuckling along with the other two men. “Good. We can talk about _this_ after. Let’s go,” she ordered.

Anders found his voice several seconds later. “You can’t fight like that,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward all of her as they descended the wooden stairs. His tone was concerned and she suspected he was thinking of the intensive healing he’d done less than a day ago.

“I know,” she answered. “Finding some boots will be easy. It’s a chest guard that worries me, but hopefully Aidan will have something.” An idea had occurred to her as she spoke, and rather than aim for the front door of the inn, she angled instead toward the kitchen. “Wait here a moment,” she said as she disappeared into the door. Cyana reappeared a few minutes later, a pair of tall, sturdy boots on her feet and a smile on her face. “One of the kitchen lads is just my size,” she answered the unvoiced questions on their faces. “Let’s go meet Aidan.”

Ten minutes later they stood before a map of the city and surrounding areas in the guard tower. Constable Aidan had briefed them - a large force of darkspawn was approaching from the south, along the Pilgrim’s Path, their intent seemingly being a direct assault on Amarathine. He had dispatched guards into the city to rally anyone capable and willing to join in the defense. Many had been put in charge of notifying citizens to lockdown in their homes, and several had been sent to reinforce those already in the quarantine areas to protect the city’s most vulnerable. “Would you recommend any further course of action, Warden-Commander?” Aidan asked.

“Double check that every gate, doorway, and miscellaneous entry into the city is locked down. Establish communication lines from the best vantage points to command, then out into the field; we need runners. We must remain coordinated,” Cyana advised. “Otherwise, I need a chest guard, if you’ve got a dwarf-sized one lying about somewhere.”

“I’ll escort you to the armory myself if you’ll be so gracious as to set your Wardens to the tasks you’ve just listed. My men are under orders to follow their commands as well as yours,” the constable said gravely. She nodded at Aiden and waved her hand toward the Wardens, who promptly set off in three different directions. Aiden gestured her toward the door on the opposite side of the room.

“Aiden,” Cyana began as they walked determinedly toward the armory, “this is not going to be an easy fight. We are facing overwhelming numbers here. With four Wardens and your limited city force, I don’t realistically know what our chances are.” She paused and looked at him regretfully. “There is a fair chance we might lose Amaranthine.”

The constable’s face was grave as he led Cyana into the armory. He angled silently toward a dusty shelf at the back of the long room which seemed to house many oddly sized sets of armor. He browsed a minute or two, fingering several items, before pulling a scaled cuirass off the shelf. He snatched up an oilcloth from a nearby rack and gave the item a quick but methodical cleaning, ensuring everything flexed and bent as necessary. He passed it to Cyana, who slid into it easily. She was nearly done with the fastenings before he finally spoke. “I know, Warden Commander. But Amaranthine is my home, and I’ll be damned if I’m just going to hand it over to them.” His voice and his eyes burned with fierce emotion. “If we need to, I will not hesitate to call for us to abandon the city, but I will not simply go without a fight.”

Cyana looked up into the man’s face, giving the cuirass a final tug into place. “You know, Aiden. You’d make a damn good Warden.” He smiled at her and nodded before leading her out of the armory.

They walked in silence to the main city gate. The distance had grown small between the city and the approaching horde. Aiden moved to pass out final orders to his men and Cyana walked over to her Wardens. Anders gave her a once over and seemed to approve of the new chest piece. Oghren simply grunted at her arrival. Nathaniel was staring into the distance, his archer’s eyes already assessing weaknesses and vantage points. Suddenly his body stiffened, his eyes sliding to the right as he drew his bow and nocked an arrow with incredible speed. “ _WAIT_!” a strangled voice cried.

Cyana could scarcely believe her eyes. Approaching them from the wilderness on the right was one of the talking darkspawn, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Hold,” she whispered to Nathaniel, not taking her eyes off the creature. It was a large hurlock, wearing atypical armor and walking with a more upright, practiced gait. He continued toward them slowly and stopped some small distance from where they stood.

“You are Warden Commander, yes?” he asked, his black eyes on Cyana. His voice was dry and empty, like air rushing through cracks in stone. “I come with message. From Architect. Abandon city, return to Vigil’s Keep. The Mother also attacks it.”

Several voices rang out at once. Questions flew from several directions, as Aiden and his men had also heard the darkspawn’s words. Several were more concerned about a Darkspawn who could speak than what he’d actually said. “ _Please_ , quiet!” Cyana shouted. She addressed the darkspawn. “How do you know this?”

“We watch,” it croaked. “I am Messenger. Architect sends me. We watch, you and the Mother. She attacks city and Keep this day. I am sent to warn. And to help.”

“To help?” she asked, surprised. “You would fight with us?” Murmuring began again. She gestured impatiently for quiet with her hands.

“We watch. We know some things. We wish to help,” he said simply.

Nathaniel had lowered his bow, but it was Oghren who spoke first. “It’s your decision, Commander. But they’ve kept the peace since our last tangle, as promised. And we could use the help.”

Anders piped up. “He’s a darkspawn. It would be easy for the average soldier to… well, make a mistake. If he’s going to fight, he should fight with us. He looks as different to us from the others as day does to night.”

Nathaniel nodded as Anders spoke. “Yes, I agree. Let’s hear what he knows, too.”

“Very well,” Cyana decided. “Come, Messenger. Tell us what you know, and then we shall see how well you fight.”

The darkspawn smiled, black lips stretched against bared fangs, and then made a sound that Cyana could only guess was laughter. “Yes, we shall.” 

The Messenger’s intelligence was happily received. The darkspawn attack several days prior was meant to stay hidden until the remaining forces reached the city, but they could not keep themselves from raiding the place. Luckily, Aiden had gotten so many work volunteers that the tunnel was once again completely impassable, which meant the city was sealed so long as the gates held. As far as the Architect knew, no other tunnels inside had been dug.

The Messenger also knew the Mother’s forces were bringing several armored ogres, their express purpose being to break their way into Amaranthine via the wooden gates. If these ogres could be defeated before they achieved their purpose, there was a decent chance the rest of the darkspawn would abandon the fight once breaching the gates became impossible. It was therefore decided that the Wardens, the Messenger, and a small unit of Aiden’s men would focus their efforts on taking these ogres down as quickly as possible. The rest of the city guard would defend the gates and take down as many stray darkspawn as possible, particularly emissaries who could wreak havoc with fire magic.

The force sent to attack Vigil’s Keep was smaller. Cyana was desperately grateful she’d put effort into helping Voldrik fortify the ancient stone structure over the last several months. She only hoped that those efforts would prove fruitful. She thought briefly of Velanna, Sigrun, and Justice. Knowing that the Keep was in capable hands assuaged her fears somewhat, but worry gnawed at her heart. She took a deep breath, pushed that fear into the dark recesses of her mind, and focused instead on the coming battle.


	17. The Fight for Amaranthine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is in place. It's time to see it through. (Chapter edited 11/6 to rectify the glaring error of forgetting to include The Messenger. Don't write when distracted, kids.)

The fight had been raging for three hours when the final ogre broke off from the main body of the enemy and approached the front gate. Corpses littered the area, both human and darkspawn; the ground was thick with the blood of both. The city’s forces were beginning to flag against the seemingly endless waves of darkspawn, and Cyana knew the battle would likely be decided very shortly. 

She and her team had taken down four other ogres. The beasts were massive, with plated armor protecting their bodies. They were stronger and more intelligent than their common brethren and the fighting had been brutal. Four of Aiden’s six men were down, though only one had been killed. Anders had saved the other three, but he was so taxed that Cyana had ordered him to save all his mana for healing and support spells only. That left just five of them on the offensive with one ogre to go. They were tired, battered, and bloody, but not beaten.

The ogre lumbered up the hill in front of the city gate, between the flaming wreckage of what earlier in the day had been two cottages. Fighting continued all around them, darkspawn versus city guard. The wild, clamoring tongue of the darkspawn intermingled with the shouts of the guards as cries from the injured on both sides rang out intermittently. As it crested the hill, the ogre let loose a screaming growl that momentarily drowned out the cacophony.

Nathaniel attacked first, loosing a hail of arrows aimed at the creature’s skull. Many bounced off the helm, but one took the ogre in the right eye as it charged toward the gate. It stumbled and screamed, fists flailing around it, smashing anything within reach. Cyana and her company kept their distance. Eventually it reached up and broke the shaft off, tossing it aside. Blood poured from the wound, but the massive body stood up and made once more toward the entrance to the city.

Oghren charged in then, blade stuck out in front of him, his berserker’s cry echoing in Cyana’s ears. His chest plate was still somewhat dented from their previous engagement, but it seemed not to slow him down. Nathaniel nocked more arrows, carefully aiming each one in search of chinks in their foe’s armor. Cyana darted in along with the two remaining guards and the Messenger and their final dance picked up the tempo.

The ogre broke off his charge and aimed a crushing blow at Oghren, sending the dwarf sailing back eight feet into a sprawled heap on the ground. He began to glow with a faint, green light almost immediately as Anders healed whatever was necessary and righted the dwarf in one go. He shook his head briefly, red beard waggling, and then charged in again. This time he connected, dodging the incoming fist and planting his blade directly into the beast’s forearm. It howled a piercing, earsplitting cry and wrenched its arm away, unfortunately taking Oghren’s blade with it. The dwarf stood a moment, dumbstruck, before he launched himself furiously at the beast and began punching it anywhere he could reach. Obscenities rained from his mouth, cursing the ogre for taking his blade.

Cyana and the others reached the ogre. Each man took a leg and began hacking at the beast, opening rivers of blood that flowed down its skin and pooled at their feet. The stench was incredible. The Messenger scuttled in and out, sliding his blades between gaps in the ogre’s plate. Cyana held her breath as she began her attack, going after the most tender points she could find among the cracks in its plate. She went for tendons and muscles, anything to bring the beast to the ground. 

Ten minutes passed but the creature still stood. The ground was covered in thick, tar-like blood. She could not understand how it still fought so furiously. Oghren was battered, but seemed to be running on sheer rage. He had not yet managed to retrieve his blade, and this fact served to anger him even further. Then the ogre screamed, a sudden, anguished cry as it fell to one knee. One of Aiden’s men had managed to run his blade directly into the back of the beast’s knee, bringing it down. Cyana had been under the creature at the time and barely managed to roll out of the way. The guard, however, had not moved quickly enough. The ogre snatched him up, still howling in pain. The man cried out, but there was nothing even Anders could do to save him as the ogre pulled him in two, as though he were merely a rag doll. Cyana winced. _At least it was a quick death._

The beast pushed itself back to its feet, its movement now severely handicapped. Oghren had managed to retrieve his sword and was now circling their enemy, blade held aloft, looking for a weak spot. The other guard remained stoic despite his comrade’s gruesome end, and took up the fight once more, circling opposite Oghren, determination glinting in his eyes. The Messenger joined them, pathing around their injured prey. Cyana took stock of the situation.

Five men down. Oghren pummelled. The remaining guard battered. But both still fighting. The Messenger alone seemed no worse for the wear, but perhaps it was simply harder to tell. Nathaniel’s quiver was dangerously empty - four arrows remained. Anders looked the most haggard of all. Skeletons of shattered glass littered the ground at his feet - evidence of however many potions he’d had to consume to keep the rest of them alive. She needed to finish the fight quickly.

Another arrow flew from Nathaniel’s bow, firmly landing in the beast’s back. Cyana suddenly noticed the other several arrows, right along the ogre’s spine, leading more or less straight up its back. Her eyes grew wide. _I bet I could climb that…_ She waited no more than 20 seconds, as the beast ducked to take another swing at Oghren, before she launched herself at the arrows. She tore her way quickly up its back toward its head, pulling some some of the shafts out as she went. The beast was driven mad. It grabbed for her wildly, further injuring itself with the spikes on its shoulder plates, but was unable to reach her. 

Its arms dropped momentarily and that was all the time she needed. She darted immediately up onto its head, slinging a leg over one of the horns and holding on tight. She spun her dagger in her palm and slipped it between the slits in the helm, bursting the ogre’s only remaining eye. As the beast roared in pain, she slipped off one horn and onto the other. A massive hand swung up to grab at her, but the beast’s timing was off - she was gone, and the beast impaled itself on its own horn. Blood rained down around her, spurting from the injured palm as the ogre slowly extricated itself. 

“Oghren, now!” she yelled. He ran in and swept his sword across the back of the uninjured leg. The beast grunted in surprise, no longer able to see the attacks coming. As it fell, Cyana swung off the horn and slipped down onto the lip of its chestplate. She grabbed both her blades, and with all the force she could muster, smashed them into the ogre’s throat. She then launched herself backward off the beast, landing on her back in the dirt several feet away as it crashed facefirst to the ground. Its last breath burbled from its throat, and it moved no more.

Cyana waited for several seconds, the wind having been knocked out of her, before she righted herself and struggled to her feet. As she stood, the sound of a horn rang out. The battle froze for a single moment before the darkspawn turned and began to flee. “It worked! They’re leaving. They’re running away!” the guard cried out.

“Archers, take out whatever you can!” she screamed to no one in particular. Several men around her nocked arrows and fired at the retreating backs of the darkspawn. Many fell. Remaining guards ran out into the field and finished off those and any other straggling darkspawn. Five more minutes passed, and the fighting was over. Runners arrived from the rear gate with good news. Amaranthine, against all odds, had been saved.


End file.
